Fortified Wine: Jorian Ficlets
by readithoney
Summary: Pull the cork. Let it breathe. Experience the nose. Jiggle the glass. Okay, let's get sloppy. 30 days of OTP ficlet prompts.
1. Day 1: Holding Hands

**Day 1: Holding hands**

John remembered when this wall went up, though he was in middle school at the time and far more concerned with his junior football team and obtaining the coolest tablet computer to really consider the political and societal ramifications of forsaking an entire section of the city. He did remember his mother crying a lot, worrying that they ought to move, and staying up at night until his father was home from work. He would sit up with her some nights, or try to, falling asleep on her thigh while she ran nervous fingers gently through his thick hair. He could still hear her breathy sigh when they'd hear his key in the door. "Oh, thank God," she'd whisper just before kissing his weary father.

Now, _right now_, really wasn't the time to be thinking these things. Dorian was in front of him as they ran along the flat top of the wall from one outpost to the next. John's chest was heaving with adrenaline and exertion. A droid whizzed by uncomfortably close, attempting to find the source of the breach.

A whole new kind of android was entering the city from the other side of the wall. It was an aggressive creature, tall and alien. Dr. Vaughn truly outdid himself with this one. They reached the other outpost and saw the door hanging from the hinges.

"Stay back, John," Dorian insisted, holding one arm out, the other holding his firearm up and ready. John would have none of that, following into the building behind his husband with both hands on his gun, elbows bent slightly, ready for anything. As he entered, an unearthly screech erupted from the robotic monster waiting inside as it leapt forward into both men. John fired off two rounds, one of them hitting its shoulder. Dorian tried to get a good shot as the thing bowled John over, rolling him past and over the edge of the wall.

The DRN felt like he had been stabbed in the stomach as the hideous synthetic beast leapt from the wall and across to the roof of a building more than thirty feet away. He ran to the edge and felt a wash of relief to see John holding on for dear life, his fingers coiled but slipping over the lip at the edge of the hulking barrier. His legs and body dangled over a tremendous straight drop.

Dorian dropped to his chest, his head over the edge. John was grunting, his sweaty fingers slipping slowly and his arm shaking in resistance. Just as his fingers lost their gripping power, Dorian swung his arm down and caught John's wrist.

John shouted in brief terror and then looked up at Dorian. Sweat poured off John's face and his entire body prickled with fear. He was bleeding down his chest from where the claws of Vaughn's robo-monstrosity had ripped across his flesh.

"You got me," he said, exhaust and gratitude making his voice throaty and strained.

"I got you," Dorian confirmed, pulling John up easily onto the concrete platform. John lay on his back on the flat top of the wall, panting. Dorian lay beside him, recovering from the emotional trauma. His hand moved down from the iron grip on John's wrist, invading the man's aching palm. Their fingers laced.

Another minute of this and they'd have to get up. John needed medical attention and this war was just beginning.


	2. Day 2: Cuddling

**Day 2: Cuddling**

"What are you doing, John?" Dorian asked the human who was leaning his face into his shoulder, nuzzling into the fabric of Dorian's blue coat. John had his arms wound around Dorian's right elbow and one hand on the android's warm belly inside his coat but over his shirt.

"Cuddling," John murmured, his eyes closed. He let out a long yawn and then rubbed his forehead deeper into Dorian's shoulder.

"That's fine," Dorian said, pulling his arm free from John's grip and placing it behind John's shoulders, drawing him closer to his body and giving him a squeeze. "I really enjoy this. However, I must point out that we are on a stakeout right now."

John cracked one eye then closed it again. "Don't care."

They were in the back of a van designed to look like a flower truck. The audio feed was plugged into the port of the MX who sat across from them, looking at them with dark, blank eyes and monitoring the tech. There were several light screens up and running, showing dark scenes from the empty streets around them.

"The MX is watching, John." Dorian's voice came out strained and crushed between his teeth as he spoke out of the side of his mouth so only John could hear.

The MX cocked its head to the side like a puppy, trying to listen.

"Don't care," John said again, sinking against Dorian all the more. He curled his legs up onto the bench seating along the windowless wall of the van. A moment later, he began to snore.

Dorian smiled shyly at the MX and nervously said, "Humans, amiright?" He made an exaggerated gesture and an eye roll, attempting to find some camaraderie with his fellow android.

The MX blinked perfunctorily. "Detective Kennex is the only attending human officer on this mission and should maintain a state of consciousness," the androgynous device informed evenly.

A long pause in speaking was punctuated by John's peaceful sleep sighs. Dorian ran his fingers through the mess of dark hair on top of John's head and smiled. "Let him sleep," he finally said softly. "If there is any movement or noise outside, I'll wake him up."

"Unadvisable," the MX quarreled, "his reaction time will be slower in the first twenty minutes of waking from dormancy."

"Okay," Dorian said, "but the last time an MX woke John up, he shot it right in the core processor." It was a lie, but not a stretch.

Another long, quiet, contemplating pause filled the van. John turned a little in his sleep, an adorable noise escaping his lips, sinking down so his head rested on Dorian's thigh. His coat fell away a little, revealing the gun holstered at his side.

"Let him sleep," the MX finally decided.


	3. Day 3: Gaming or Watching a Movie

**Day 3: Gaming/Watching a Movie**

John's mouth was hanging open like he was trying to catch flies as he played the latest _Legend of Zelda_ video game from the comfort of his couch. He had one sock on and one sock off, his hair stuck up in every direction, and his mouth tasted like sugar and death.

Dorian stretched as he walked out to the living room, a nice, full charge making him feel happy and safe. He stopped short when he saw John, tangled in a thin blanket, controller still in hand, the light screen aglow with a small blond, elfish character in a green tunic and a comic sword.

"Did you sleep at all last night?" Dorian asked, picking up the army of empty pop cans on the coffee table.

John looked shakily at Dorian, startled by his sudden presence. "What time is it?" his voice cracked out scratchily.

"Seven in the morning," Dorian said, dumping the cans in the recycling in the kitchen. He walked back and inspected the human's red eyes, ringed in dark circles. The DRN's face crumpled with concern.

John dropped the controller to the floor. "This was a mistake," he moaned, rubbing his fingers deep into his eyes in misery. He rose and stretched, shaking out his whole body as if emerging from a cocoon. Walking to the light screen base, he pulled the little game box off the connection pad. He handed it to Dorian and said, "Donate this to the children's hospital. I'm going to bed."

Dorian looked down at the box that read _Playstation 14. _He nodded and tucked it under his arm, grabbing up the controller. He pulled his coat on and picked up John's keys, all too eager to get rid of the wretched device that turned his husband into an insomniac zombie with a thirst for sugar soda.

John scrubbed his teeth lethargically. He didn't want to, but he forced himself to take a quick shower. He toweled off half-heartedly, slapped his leg on the charging base, and fell sound asleep the moment his still-soaking head hit his pillow.

He dreamt of a big castle, giant spiders, horses, and fairies. In his dream, he was trying so hard to save Dorian from the evil Lord Ganon that he tossed and jerked in his bed.

Dorian dropped the system off at the pediatric wing of the hospital and then went grocery shopping while John slept. John had bought the game system just one day earlier and from the moment he had plugged it in he was transfixed. Dorian hated to admit that he was jealous; he wanted to be the only "hardware" in John's life.

When John woke for a late lunch, Dorian informed him that the hospital was grateful for his donation, leaning one shoulder into the wall.

John shook his still heavy head, thinking around a pinching headache. "Man I haven't played a video game in years. I am too competitive, I guess. I couldn't tear myself away until I beat the damn thing and that's just not worth it." He flipped his grilled cheese sandwich in the pan and smiled at his partner with his eyes. "Not when I could be spending my free time with you, instead."

Dorian came up behind him and wrapped his arms around John's waist, resting the side of his face against the man's broad, warm shoulders. "After lunch, wanna have a sword fight?" he asked suggestively, running one splayed hand down the front of John's cotton pants. Then he jumped back and laughed as John gasped and tried to smack him with the buttery spatula.

John didn't want to wait for lunch. He turned the heat off, tossed the spatula in the sink, and abandoned his food for a far more delicious adventure.


	4. Day 4: On a Date

**Day 4: On a date**

"Fucking got you," John whispered happily to himself, chuckling and leaning his back into the fake, foam rock he was using for cover in the indoor laser tag arena.

The 12 year old he just took out was wearing a birthday hat. The kid began to cry as his vest played the music indicating he was a casualty and directing him to the exit.

Dorian was crouched against a nearby pillar, also wearing a vest and holding a plastic gun. It was a massive free-for-all. Players could stay in the game until they 'died' and John and Dorian had been at it for hours. It only took five hits to lose the game and John had one hit left before he would be ousted and Dorian had two.

They were working as a team and thus far there had been no friendly fire. John ran to Dorian's side quickly, looking around for more kids. By far, they were the tallest people in the foggy arena. John was twenty-eight years older than the second oldest person in the room, whose birthday party had just been ruined by John's perfect marksmanship.

"Hey Dee," John hissed, sidling up to Dorian and successfully getting three rounds into a nine year old running past. Dorian shot the kid once more and made the kid's vest shake. He was out.

John grinned and looked up at the leaderboard which was projected in huge print on the wall. Dorian's latest "kill" rolled his name into the number one slot, forcing John into the second place position. The third place spot, held by a crafty ten year old, was still thousands of points below their commanding lead.

"Fucking unfair!" John complained. "I shot that kid three times. You just got the last shot. That kill should have been mine."

Dorian grinned, shooting his laser gun at a little girl. "Hey man, you should have finished what you started."

The children in the arena were learning to work together to take out the two adults ruining their game. John was certain that he and Dorian had surpassed the record for longest game in the arena without dying. Maybe they had even beaten a world record.

As he thought of this, a wave of children in a battle formation came running toward them. The detective and his android ran for cover while firing. Dorian was hit. Now each man had only one hit left. The birthday party group had joined forces with the newly arrived bar mitzvah party, which was waiting on the other end. Dorian watched a large kid jump out and open fire on John. He jumped in front of his human, absorbing the invisible hit. His vest shook and informed him he had died. He walked to the exit as the children descended on John, who fired wildly from the ground, avenging his partner.

John took out three kids before he was hit and also had to leave. Before pushing through the exit, he looked at the leader board. KENNEX, J. was in the number one spot.

Out of the fray, John and Dorian stripped off their vests and guns and handed them to the attendant, who didn't even bother to congratulate them. As they left the laser tag hall, several furious-looking mothers fixed them with pointed glares.

Before going to the cruiser, John stopped at the counter and got a print-out of the leader board for the fridge. He gloated happily about his number one position. Dorian absorbed his unabashed crowing with good humor as they went out into the sun and got into the cruiser. Not pointing out that the only reason John won was because Dorian took a bullet for him. After all, that was what he was designed to do.

"That was a lot of fun," John said, surprise invading his voice.

"It was," Dorian agreed amicably. "Though, I do feel sorry for the child who missed the party because the invitation came to your house by mistake."

John waved him off. "I got the birthday kid a gift."

Dorian made a face. "I'm not sure what a twelve year old is going to do with that rice cooker."

"I got it free from my bank for signing up for a savings account," John shrugged, "Maybe someday the kid will have me to thank for being a famous chef?"

"It's a rice cooker, John," Dorian said flatly, and then he couldn't help but laugh. John joined him. 

"I get to pick what we do on the next date night," Dorian said once they'd calmed back down.

"You don't like crashing little boys' birthday parties?" John teased, steering them in the direction of a restaurant in the 'skirts since it was still his day to choose.

Dorian looked out the window as he spoke, "_That_ and, well, I'd like to something that doesn't involve shooting children."

John shot a wicked smile at Dorian but said nothing. The DRN had been reluctant to go to the laser tag party, had practically begged John to reconsider. However, once inside, he had dispatched the children quite efficiently and enthusiastically.

John liked laser tag when he was young and couldn't believe those places were still around. He wouldn't be going back though, as an age limit was posted five minutes after he left the building.

Dorian was searching for paintball fields in the agro districts. On their next date, he'd see how well John fared when he picked on people his own size.


	5. Day 5: First Kiss

**Day 5: First Kiss**

This was kiss number 1,206 and it was wonderful. It reminded Dorian of kiss number 642, which had taken place under a tree in the park. There were soft vibrations from John's laughter and the same flick of the tongue punctuated the final moment which made Dorian marvel at how playful John could be just for him. John settled himself into the crook of Dorian's arm comfortably.

John was so casual and happy, comfortable and smooth in his movements. His laughter still shook as it died slowly in his chest. All of this made Dorian think back on the first time their lips connected; he sighed happily as he contemplated how far they had come in such a short time.

"A bit for your thoughts?" John asked, turning his head to look at the Android whose face sparkled with blue light, which usually indicated that he was processing something.

Dorian put a hand up to his face, wishing it didn't betray him so often. "I was thinking about our kisses," he admitted. "That last one was very nice."

John snorted a laugh and turned to get more comfortable on the couch, worming his body up against Dorian's even closer and resting his head back. "You liked that one, did ya?" he teased, rubbing his palm on Dorian's thigh.

Dorian caught John's hand in his and held tight. "I was also thinking about how very different it was from our first kiss." It was Dorian's turn to be flip as John groaned and turned a little red.

Embarrassing as it was, he loved it when Dorian recounted things. He told details in his stories that most humans would have overlooked and it was almost always adorable-unless he was telling the story to one of their mutual friends or coworkers, of course. _Then, _it was mortifying.

"Tell me about the first kiss, Dee," John asked, turning his earthy eyes on his partner with mock pleading. He knew damn well he never had to plead to get Dorian to talk.

Dorian shifted a little, wrapping one arm around the back of John's shoulders. "Let me see, here," he began, walking his fingers up John's arm. "We'd had eight inches of snow overnight and I was staying at your place, snowed in with you. Do you remember?"

John's lips contracted at the memory and his head nodded. "It just kept coming down."

"You were mad that I stayed over and that you were stuck with me until the snow relented," Dorian explained. "Actually, you were just _acting_ mad, it is easy to tell the difference. When you are mad for real, you get out of breath fast and your hands make fists over and over again and your neck turns red." John blushed and shifted in his seat.

Dorian continued, pointing across the room to where John's desk stood. "You were at your desk pretending to work," he smiled, "and I made you coffee."

"I wonder how many cups of coffee you've made me?" John wondered aloud, smiling to himself.

"As of today, 467," Dorian informed quickly, not thinking about it. John blinked at the quick statistic as if it had dulled his senses.

Dorian continued. "You were biting your nails, John. That day, when I brought you coffee. So I knew you were upset about something."

"Oh yeah?" John asked. He didn't remember that part. He looked at his own nails and realized for the first time ever that he gnawed them in vulnerable moments.

"It was your father's birthday," Dorian informed. "I searched the date to see if I could determine what had you chewing on your dirty fingers like that."

John's brow knit. "You never said anything?"

"No, I felt distraction would be better at that point," Dorian said, matter-of-factly. "Sometimes when you talk about your dad, your eyes get so upset I feel like you are hurting too much. I didn't want to be the cause of that pain."

John thought about that. Just the notion made his eyes prickle.

"So, when you took your coffee," Dorian turned a little, angling his body closer to John, "You looked up at me a moment, like you wanted something."

John looked up at Dorian then from where he was slouched on the couch.

"Yeah, just like that," Dorian said, he placed a hand under John's chin and ran his thumb along bottom edge of the man's plump lower lip. "And I knew you were missing someone who loved you. And I knew that I loved you. And I thought, well, I'd take the risk and if I was decommissioned, at least I felt your lips once."

John's eyes shone a little. "You didn't know what was happening, John. I tipped your head and stole a kiss." Dorian kissed him right then, kiss number 1207.

He broke it off for the sake of the story. "When you opened your mouth and let me explore, I grabbed you behind your back and pulled you out of the desk chair. Your hair actually looked nice that day because you hadn't done anything with it. It was soft and shaggy around your forehead."

John knew what was coming next and squirmed as Dorian kept speaking, his lips close to his ear, hot breath making him shudder. His stomach tugged. "And then you panicked, jerked away from me suddenly, and knocked the cup of coffee over."

John laughed nervously, remembering this part with renewed clarity. He said, "Set the fucking light screen on the blink, and it started to smoke."

"It took me the rest of the day to fix it," Dorian said, "while you paced around, wrestling with your feelings, and pretending to act mad. It took you until the next morning to realize you wanted me to kiss you all the time."

"Kiss number two was better though, right?" John asked desperately, a warm flush creeping up from under his shirt collar, embarrassed by that whole day in the past. He felt his entire body cringe at his own awkwardness. Dorian was acutely aware of his every floundering, artless mannerism and the thought made John flush all the more.

"Nothing was better than kiss number one," Dorian said with firm sincerity, his arm tightening around John to give him a squeeze.

"Do you think you'll ever like a kiss better than number one?" John smiled, relaxing, loving the way Dorian loved him.

"Oh, I have one in mind," Dorian said, "but I'm not sure it's going to happen."

"What is it?" John demanded loudly, sitting upright quickly and laughing. "I want to make it happen! Let's make it happen!" He was excited now, wondering what kind of fantasy kiss Dorian had locked away in his perfect mind.

Dorian's blue eyes shone in the light of the setting sun, sinking past the distant wall. "_Well_, in order to make_ that_ kiss happen, you'll have to agree to marry me," he said, watching John's smile sink and then surge as he processed the words.

Kiss number 1208 was a doozy.


	6. Day 6: Wearing each other's clothes

**Day 6: Wearing each other's clothes**

John's teeth clattered together uncontrollably as he hugged himself around the shoulders. He was soaking wet from head to toe and shook like a nervous Chihuahua as his breath hitched in his lungs, desperate for more oxygen.

"I'm going to k-k-kill him," he said, his dark eyes sharp and murderous.

Dorian was in the tiny bathroom with John, attempting to dry him off with paper towels. "What kind of a boat owner doesn't keep towels on their vessel at all times?" Dorian asked, equally annoyed. They still had several hours on this floating voyage and the night air was nippy with a constant breeze.

"It's-s-s a rental, D-Dee," John explained shakily.

Richard Paul had knocked John overboard after one too many snide remarks about his MX. Everyone had laughed and the general consensus was that John deserved the unexpected dousing, but the problem was that John was freezing now and they were nowhere near the end of their riverboat party.

Fed up, Dorian removed his jacket and started stripping out of his pants. "Take off your wet clothes, John," he said.

John thought about protesting, but he was miserable in his sopping jeans. He tugged at his soaking shoes and socks, pushed the jeans down past his freezing thighs, and yanked his wet T-shirt up over his face. He actually felt warmer in nothing than he had in his clothes. Dorian had stripped to nothing as well, and he pulled John in for a hug, providing some skin to skin warmth. Though their nether regions were crushed together, there was no way John could experience a physical reaction in his state of misery. When John stopped shuddering, Dorian said, "You put my clothes on now; I'll wear yours. The wet and cold won't bother me."

All too happy to oblige, John stretched into Dorian's soft grey shirt, sighing at the warm feeling of dry clothes on his still-cold skin. Dorian's pants fit his waist, maybe just a little bit bigger than his own, but they were a little short for his legs, showing his ankles. He bent down and rolled the cuffs up a few times, frowned at that look, and rolled them back down.

Dorian squeezed John's pants over the sink, wringing the excess water out of them. Then he put them on, hopping in place to drag the wet material up over his thighs. He managed to button them by pulling hard on the fabric. Then he pulled the shirt on with comparative ease.

John shrugged gratefully into Dorian's coat and zipped it all the way up. The arms were a little short but it was warm and sufficient. They both carried their shoes out, walking barefoot back up to the deck of the rented ship where the Delta Force party was still in full swing. John hung his wet socks over a rail and left his shoes nearby. His feet were chilly, but it wasn't unbearable.

Richard Paul was across the ship talking to his elderly mom, leaning on the railing. "Oh good," John said, grinning viciously.

Dorian pulled on John's shoulder, looking at him pleadingly, "Don't push Richard in," he begged, "be the bigger man."

"Hey I am _always_ the bigger man when it comes that pipsqueak," John informed, pushing a thumb into the middle of his own chest. " 'Sides, I'm not gonna push him in, I'm gonna push his _mom_ in."

The panicked gasp that escaped Dorian's mouth was well worth the joke. "John!" he hissed.

"What?" John asked incredulously, "He ruined my cell phone!" Dorian's fearful look was hilarious but it made John wonder why his boyfriend would think he'd actually push a little old lady off a boat. He cocked his eyebrows at Dorian in annoyance.

Dorian looked ridiculous, following after John, leaving little drips from his wet partner's clothing. The cuffs of his jeans pooled at his ankles and the shirt was loose but clung wrinkled and awkward to his torso.

John was very pleased that when he walked up Richard Paul, the shorter detective shied away in fear. John didn't knock him or his sweet, short, old mother into the river. Instead he leaned in, wrapping his blue-clad arm around the other man's shoulders and looking down at him, "Paulie, old pal," he smiled, "I owe you one. I _promise_ to pay you back, _ten-fold_." He gave him a hard smack on the back, miming a much friendlier gesture.

Richard gave him an annoyed look and refrained from making a face when John smacked him. He looked John up and down then Dorian and began to laugh. "Did you seriously trade clothes?" He asked, his face creased with laughter.

John looked down at his outfit and then looked back at Richard. All around the boat people were laughing. "It's like you two really _are _lovers!" Richard croaked out, bent almost in half from amusement.

More laughter erupted from the crowd of coworkers.

John was done. He was sick of it. He had had it up to here. He grabbed Dorian by the front of his own wet T-shirt and yanked him close, pushing his chin up with two fingers and kissing the DRN deeply. The laughter died down, the party went silent. John broke away, took Dorian's hand, dragging him, and tromped off to find a beer and a quiet place to kiss his boyfriend in peace.

Sandra Maldonado tipped her beer back and smiled at the scene. She was glad it was finally out in the open. It was tiresome pretending not to know.

Dorian looked back at the captain as John pulled him away, receiving a reassuring nod and a smile from their fearless leader. He turned to focus on the back of John's head, stumbling along behind him, their fingers locked. Dorian put his free hand up to his face, fingers fluttering across his own mouth, making sure the big smile he couldn't control wasn't splitting his skin apart.


	7. Day 7: Cosplaying

**Day 7: Cosplaying**

"We aren't the fucking A-Team, why are we putting on these ridiculous disguises?" John asked, as he stepped into his overalls. They were covered in dried paint.

Dorian was already dressed in his painters' outfit, also a worn-looking pair of white overalls smeared in color. "It's reconnaissance," he said, "and we'll be hiding in plain sight, John."

"It means we actually have to paint," John complained.

Richard Paul was also dressed in an outfit, "God f'bid you actually do some work, Kennex."

John shot him a glower.

Dorian grabbed a ladder and John and Richard each grabbed two cans of paint, loading it all into the back of a white, unmarked van.

Valerie Stahl cleared her throat as the men all clambered into the van. They stopped to look back at her. "Aren't you forgetting something?" she asked, gesturing to a bucket of paint brushes and rollers on the table.

John walked over and took them off the table, ignoring the satisfied, playful look on her face. He wasn't in the mood.

An hour later they stood in the halls of a major tech corporation that John suspected was a front for the creation and distribution of a new drug. They stood there, Dorian holding the ladder, Richard the brushes and John two gallons of paint. They looked around with their mouths open as people in business casual walked past them, eyeballing them curiously.

Richard hissed out the side of his mouth, "Are you kidding me, John?"

"How's I s'posed to know?" John growled back.

Dorian blinked a few times. Then turned to both men decisively, "Squeegees and buckets," he said, gesturing to all the glass walls. Not a single wall in the halls of the tech corp was plastered. The very building itself seems to be made from textured glass. There was no reason to be there with paint.

They all turned around calmly and walked back out of the building. "We're taking glass buildings too far," John griped. as they exited the building which glimmered magnificently in the sun.

"I tell you one thing," Richard said, a smirk on his face and a gleam in his eye, "They shouldn't throw stones."

John punched him in the arm hard before slamming into the van where Richard's MX was waiting in the driver' seat. Richard got in the front, rubbing at his arm ruefully, "Jesus, Kennex, take it easy."

John felt a little bad but only for a minute. He looked like the fucking dutchboy. His face burned with red, this was his own damn mistake for not scoping the place out first and for letting Paul pick the disguises. There was no way it went unnoticed. The company would have them on their radar now and would cover their tracks. Undoubtedly, the meeting they were there to spy on had already been cancelled, the lines they tapped forsaken.

Richard looked at the MX and said, "Take us to my house, Max." He smiled back at John and Dorian, "My living room could use a fresh coat."

John's expletive-riddled protest could be heard from space.


	8. Day 8: Shopping

**Day 8: Shopping**

"Just let me do the talking," John said, mopping his sun-beaten brow with the frayed remnants of his sleeve.

Dorian had a scrunched up, miserable look on his face which was worn in patches where purple showed through the broken, peeling synthetic skin. They'd been walking for days in the sun and Dorian's solar charger was on the blink. He was half-charged and John was half-starved. Between the two of them, neither man had a shred of patience left. "Whatever, man, don't fuck it up," Dorian barked back, picking at the loose skin on his arm.

John slapped at Dorian's hand as they approached the camp. Months after the fall of civilization, it was still difficult to find the supplies they both needed to function and few people trusted a man traveling with an android after the uprising.

They approached the farm in the middle of nowhere. The dustbowl that had recently developed kicked up around the house and John shielded his eyes against the particles in the air. There were several people on the porch. John approached cautiously, "Hey, you guys have electricity for sale?"

Dorian hung behind John, hiding his face under the hood of the sweatshirt he was wearing. John's face was smeared with dirt and ruddy from the sun. He shielded his eyes with one hand so he could better see the faces of the men guarding the property.

"What have you got to purchase it with?" one of the men drawled, holding onto a shotgun menacingly angled in front of his barrel chest.

John looked back at Dorian and saw his blue eyes looking back from under his hood, clear and sharp. He turned back to the man and said, "We're hard workers."

"Don't need workers," the man spat. The grin on the man's greasy face was enough to make John's fists ball tight, his fingernails cutting dents into the meaty part of his hand. The gun in his shoulder holster bumped his ribs beneath his jacket and made him itch for it.

Dorian put a hand on John's shoulder, infusing his calming influence into his tense husband, "Come on, John, let's go."

"No," John said, pulling out of his grip, "Look, what do you need? I'll get it for you, do it for you. We need water, food and electricity. We need a place to sleep away from the elements just for one night." John made sure the men could see his face, see the hard look of determination there and understand that the next step might be less pleasant than begging.

"We don't take kindly to androids," one of the men chipped, motioning to Dorian.

"He's a victim just like you or me," John said. He ran a hand past the top of his matted hair.

They stood there in the howling wind. Still and angry. All around them were fields of dust. John knew if they didn't get Dorian plugged in soon, he'd be a decaying statue in this dismal, neglected wasteland.

"You got a piece under your jacket," one of the men pointed out, "we'll let you charge and eat, you can sleep in the barn, but we'll take your gun."

"You'll render us defenseless," Dorian spoke up, John narrowed his eyes, but was happy that his low-charged partner was somehow keeping it together.

"Better'n dead," the man quipped, "final offer."

"Deal," John said, walking forward to shake hands. He needed to get Dee taken care of and sleeping indoors, even in a barn, would be a blessing. He might actually be able to patch Dorian up without making things worse with ash and dust.

John handed over the gun only after Dorian had been set to charge in the barn with an extension cord from the solar and wind generator that kept the camp up and running. Most of the agro districts were self-sustained with power anyhow.

John was given access to a filthy bathroom where he was able to stand in the hot spray of well water from the shower nozzle. The water on his cracked, dry skin was nourishing and even though it tasted terrible, he gulped at the stream desperately and swallowed hot mouthfuls gratefully.

He devoured his plate of food ravenously, eager to get back out to Dorian and tired. He watched the ring leader play with his police-issue weapon like a kid with a new toy through the whole meal.

Finally the man turned the gun on John. John knew it was coming, knew all of this was too good to be true. "We had a deal," John said, wiping his mouth on his sleeve and cradling his empty plate.

"Don't shoot him in the house," a gnarly-looking old woman said with distaste. "I ain't scrubbing blood and bits off the walls again."

"I'll take care of 'em both in the barn," the man with John's gun said, motioning that John should stand up with a jerk of the gun barrel.

John kept a hard, even look on his face as he slowly rose to his feet. He walked out in the night air, a chill running over his spine as the wind tousled his still-wet hair.

The guy shoved him off the porch with the gun, jabbing him toward the barn. John bit out his words purposefully, "A man who isn't worth his word isn't worth shit."

"We ran out of bullets a while ago," the man said, "I'm so glad you showed up today."

"Next you'll say something about being out of meat, too," John said as he walked into the barn at gunpoint. Dorian was heavy lidded and charging, unaware.

"We ain't cannibals," the man snapped, his voice annoyed.

John shrugged, "Well you are every other kind of cliché," he said. A kick to the back of his legs dropped him to his knees. He felt the hard tip of the gun in the back of his head. John squeezed his eyes shut.

"We just don't like android lovers," he pulled the trigger.

John opened one eye. A smiled slipped up his mouth and he stood up, throwing an elbow into the man's face. The man's nose turned into a bloody faucet as he staggered back. John kicked him to the ground and wrestled the gun from him, pistol whipping the farmer and knocking him out cold. John's weapon used a pulse trigger and it needed a charge to work properly. It was just his luck that it had run out.

Dorian was watching now, still on the juice. "John!" he said, blinking, his eyes flashing different colors in confusion, "what is happening?"

"How's your charge?" John asked, crouching in front of Dorian and inspecting his once-perfect face lovingly.

"Almost full," Dorian assured, a hand lifting to rest on John's cheek. "What is going on?"

"They are out of bullets." John smiled. He put his gun in Dorian's hand and said , "Charge this, will you?"

Dorian closed his hand around the grip of the gun and it lit up as it charged. John grabbed a length of rope from the wall and tied up the unconscious bully. "I'll be right back," he said, exiting the barn despite Dorian's shouted protests.

The DRN was unsure what to do. John was off in a rage with no weapon doing who knows what. He should follow, but he also wanted to charge the weapon in case they needed it. He felt himself reach a full charge and instantly felt better. His head hadn't been this clear in weeks. The bluff of the gun would have to suffice; he rose to his feet and ran from the barn in search of John.

Outside, he scanned the darkening landscape with his night vision. He watched in time as John's legs disappeared inside a second story window of the farm house. The man could apparently climb like a goat when motivated. Dorian sighed and rushed toward the house to observe, hoping John knew what he was doing.

Dorian waited beneath a window on the first floor, holding the gun and listening. When he heard John's voice shouting, "Everyone get on the floor!" he knew it was time to jump to action.

Dorian crashed through the front door to find John pummeling the handful of men remaining while the horrible woman stood off to the side screaming. John took a knock to the back of the head that dropped him like to his knees and made him to a faceplant on the planked floorboards.

Dorian held up the spent weapon, training it on the men and shouting, "Hands behind your heads!"

They stared at the DRN, his face fully visible in the light of the room. The purple, scarred skin and exposed wires made him look less human than usual and it was frightening. One man cocked a shotgun.

"You don't have any more bullets," Dorian said unflinchingly, "Killing too many travelers is my guess. Not sure why though." He watched the confused, panicked look slip past the man's face, slowly; he lowered the shotgun to the table and placed his hands behind his head reluctantly. "On your knees against the wall, all of you," Dorian said, wincing as one of the big guys made a point to step on the middle of John's back he made his way over to kneel with the others.

As Dorian used their shoelaces to tie their hands, he was extra rough on the man who stepped on John, pressing him into the wall hard with his knee. When they were secure, he went to John who sat up with a moan. His hair was a little matted with blood and he looked up at Dee with his hazel eyes grateful and sore.

"Fuck," John said, looking at the blood on his fingers as he took them out of his hair.

"What is wrong with these people?" Dorian asked, rubbing a hand up John's back and giving it a sturdy pat before helping him to his feet.

"Fuck if I know, as if this world isn't already shitty enough, they have to run a hillbilly murder farm," He spat a bloody wad to the floor and moved his mouth around uncomfortably, miserable and sore. The copper taste of his own blood made his fragile stomach perform a dazzling somersault.

Dorian cocked his head with concern and then looked at the row of thugs. The woman was tied up too. "What do we do with them?"

John had no idea. He said "We'll think about that later, Dee." He stretched his shoulder muscles miserably in circles. "Go up and take a hot shower. I'll watch them and then we'll dress your wounds."

"What about you?" Dorian asked.

"We'll dress mine, too," he agreed.

Dorian nodded, "I'll be quick. Stay awake John, you took a big blow."

John nodded and waved him off. Once Dorian left, John rummaged through the kitchen and found water stored and cold. He drank deep, spitting out the first two mouthfuls to rinse.

He shopped around under the sink for a first aid kit and found one. When Dorian came down, freshly showered, John set to work covering his exposed wires with liquid bandage.

They locked eyes, their mutual experiences growing worse by the day, but in those pools of color, they each found the strength and comfort they needed to face tomorrow's challenge.


	9. Day 9: Hanging out with Friends

**Day 9: Hanging out with Friends**

_Well, this was fun. _The blood settling in his head made his heartbeat throb in his face and his arms feel heavy and numb. His ankles ached and his feet tingled like needles.

The wind was a factor. It screamed along the top of the wall and made them all sway pendulous on their chains. Halverson was staring down at the over 200 foot drop and making small, panicked noises in his throat. He was trying hard not to move but his struggling muscles would jerk uncontrollably. This time, when it happened, his badge shook loose and fell to the ground, crashing and bouncing against a curved pillar on its way down. Halverson closed his eyes.

"Pull it together, kid," John warned, though he was on the brink of panic, too. Telling other people how to handle things was his way of dealing.

Richard Paul was shaking around like Houdini, desperately trying to escape.

"You know, you wiggle loose and all you are going to get is a nice, long fall to your death," Kennex said, nearly close enough to knock into Richard with this head but not quite.

"What's your plan, then?" Richard asked through his clenched teeth.

John didn't have an answer.

"That's what I thought," Richard spat after John drew his eyes off to the side and stayed silent.

They swung there in tense silence. John finally grumped, "Dorian will come find us."

"Where is boy wonder?" Paul demanded, "For all you know, the lunatic already got him and tore him down to parts."

John swallowed his anger. Or tried to. It was hard to swallow upside down.

Simon, the criminal who nabbed them, did so at a bar after an investigation. It was hard to tell how they had been drugged, only that they woke up later hanging by their feet from the top of the wall. He was there when they first came to, the little shit escaped from the cubes somehow. This time he wasn't strapping bombs to people's necks, thank goodness. However, John figured they were on the internet right now, being filmed, watched. He wouldn't be surprised if they were surrounded in cameras. He was just waiting for the show to start. Waiting to be given an impossible task that resulted in his death. That was how Simon liked to operate.

He glanced down at the long drop and felt his stomach ache. Christ, he didn't want to fall. He comforted himself by thinking, _It will be quick. _

Suddenly, he felt his chain yank and he started to move. _Here we go,_ he thought, bracing himself for the worst.

As he was dragged up to the top, Richard and Halverson both watched in horror and anticipation.

John felt a hand on his ankle as he was carefully pulled up. Dorian was a beautiful sight and the moment he cut his binds, John threw his arms around the DRN's neck and clamped on tight, his breath raking out of his lungs. He felt dizzy from the blood rush.

Maldonado was there, and Stahl, many officers, and several MXs. They had Simon in cuffs, a look of satisfaction and amusement on his crazy little face.

"John, let go," Dorian said, closing his lips around the word _baby_ to keep it from escaping at work, "I have to help with the others."

John set his chin down hard into Dorian's shoulder and pressed, locking his hands behind Dorian's back. If his legs weren't chained, he'd wrap those around Dorian's hips, as well. He wasn't going to let go.

The MXs were already dragging up the other two men. Taking precautions. With Simon, anything could be rigged to blow. Richard Paul was up and sputtering and Halverson was lying on the ground and gasping in relief.

Dorian struggled to unwrap John's arms. When he finally managed to shuck him off, he saw tears in his usually steady eyes. Dorian glanced around and then crushed John back to his chest to hide his reaction from their coworkers.

"Calm down," he whispered in John's ear, metered and strong. John nodded, blowing his nose on Dorian's T-shirt. Dorian made a face but remained impassive. Once John had dried his nose and eyes, Dorian pulled away and quickly zipped up his jacket over the mess on his shirt. He set to unhooking John's legs from the chain that held him.

Richard was up and leaning on an MX that was helping him walk to the tower so they could get off the wall. None of them were steady on their feet. Dorian put an arm behind John's shoulders and helped him in the direction of the tower where the elevator would take them to the base of the guard station.

He didn't want him to see Simon whose shoulders shook with giggles. Dorian knew that John would throw the kid's obnoxious ass off the wall and right now he was feeling the same urge so he focused instead on getting his partner home.

John's adrenaline crashed once he was home and Dorian helped him out of his clothes and into bed and crawled in behind him, holding him tight.

John felt worlds better once he was home and in Dorian's arms. He turned in Dorian's embrace and pressed his forehead into the android's chin, getting a kiss to his hairline in return. He murmured into Dorian's chest, "It's official, I gotta stop hanging around with those guys after work."

Dorian paused, unsure of John's motive and if the pun was unintentional. Small movements in John's shoulders eased his mind and he started to laugh. Dorian smothered him with a kiss and felt John's grip tighten on his back.


	10. Day 10: Animal Ears

**WARNING: This borders on petplay: Read at your own risk kiddies! **

. . . . . . . . .

**Day 10: With animal ears**

The debate, if one could call John's foot planted firmly to the floor a debate, had gone on for long enough. John was so sick of Dorian's desire for a cat. It was obnoxious and John was pretty sure he was allergic. But Dorian persisted in other ways, making cooing noises when he saw a picture of a cat or passed one on the street. When they had a few moments to wait for something, Dorian would project cat videos from the internet on the wall or on the cruiser screen to amuse them. John was a detective; he wasn't missing all these hints.

Thus, in an effort to end this barrage of cat information, John formed a plan.

The implants came with crazy instructions. It was hard to get rid of Dorian for any length of time and John had arranged for Rudy to take him on an errand to a robotics store. Now, as he looked at everything that went into this process, not only did he need more time, but he regretted starting this in the first place. The last thing he put together was a plastic model of the Enterprise when he was twelve and even then, it wasn't his model and he had cheated and used glue.

Now, he sat on the floor of the living room staring at complicated instructions and moving, robotic parts. He sent a text to Rudy asking for more time. There was no way he could ask for help on this.

John followed all the instructions, cursing along the way and hopping up for various things, none of them glue. John had gone to the doctor-which was a big deal for him-to have the little implants placed under his skin to allow for the removable attachments. It was painless and quick and the doctor had assured John fifteen times that it was safe and reversible.

With shaking hands, John held the large cat ears he had just snapped together to his head. They latched instantly and sent a bolt through his spine. _Woah._ He could feel them through the implants, and move them. He approached the mirror to peer at his ears. It was amazing. The furry ears matched his hair color sticking out of his thick, gravity-defying tresses. He shook his head and watched how small movements of his scalp made the ears flick.

He had to admit he was eager to attach the silky tail and see how well he could control it. He hurried to the living room and picked up the slinky appendage and held the connector near the base of his spine. It found the magnetic catch of the implant and snapped with blue spark as it attached to the little dip above his backside.

He felt the weight of it and smiled. Much to his surprise, when he reached back and stroked his hand along the length, he felt the sensation all the way to the tip. The pleasure shuddered across his body and up his spine, his stomach yanked and his cock responded to the petting. John felt the ears and was happy that he could feel that as well. As silly as he thought this whole idea was, at this very moment he knew he wasn't going to have the doctor dig the little implants out from where they hid under his skin.

Rudy was dragging his feet as best he could. The DRN was too aware of his surroundings not to notice how utterly strange his friend was acting. He was bored with wandering the store. Not to mention, this trip was costing Rudy a fortune as he had to keep shopping. Finally, Dorian demanded they go home, worried about John since it was obvious Rudy was stalling for some reason.

Rudy actually knew very little of John's plans and could only hope that the reason he was taking Dorian out was positive and good. Fed up, they headed for the exit and Rudy shot John a text to let him know they were on their way back, ready or not. None of it escaped Dorian's observations and he was anxious to get home and just a little bit mad at Rudy for playing a part in whatever game this was. Needless to say, the ride back was quiet and tense.

Dorian got out of the car with a curt goodbye and walked in large strides to their apartment door. Inside, the soft lighting was strange. John was still inspecting himself in the mirror when he heard Dorian enter. His heart started to pound in his chest and he suddenly felt the adrenaline panic of regret. His own awkwardness overcame him and he rushed to hide before Dorin could see what he had done. His tail wrapped itself gently around his waist as he breathed hard. This was a mistake. He officially felt like an idiot.

"John?" Dorian called, looking through the house.

_Fuck. Dammit. Fuck._ Why did he always do this to himself? Get a big plan, spend a ton of money, and completely offshoot the goal. He was awkward and now he was hiding from Dorian, sitting on the floor ducked by one side of the bed, which was only going to make it more awkward the longer he waited.

He was about to yank off his implants when he felt a heavy hand slide into his hair. Fingers scratching at his scalp and then running up behind his synthetic cat ears which made his eyes roll into the back of his head and his toes curl. The noise coming from his throat was almost like a purr.

"There you are, kitty," Dorian said happily, breathily. He was laying on his stomach across the bed and he kicked off his shoes and sat up. He patted the mattress beside him and said, "Get up here, kitty."

John blushed and scrabbled onto the bed, sitting on his knees in front of Dorian. His tail swished back and forth across the bedspread in anticipation. The detachable member had already become a very natural part of him.

Dorian caught his tail and ran his fingers over the furry extremity. John moaned.

"My kitty cat likes that?" Dorian asked. John cocked his head to the side as if listening, his cat ears flickered.

John was only wearing a pair of black boxer briefs. As Dorian stroked his tail, John's cock thickened and strained against the cotton. Dorian enjoyed that reaction very much.

"Such a naughty kitty, sending me away all day so you could play in the house by yourself," Dorian chided, his hand moved up to the top of John's head again, tugging gently on his ear. The tug sent a jolt of annoyed pain through John and he batted at Dorian's hand in agitation. He was becoming oddly catlike with these implants.

Dorian loved it. He ran his fingers all over John's back, enjoying the tail thumping slowly against his thigh. John was adorable the way his ears moved with his emotions and tipped in response to various movements and sounds. When Dorian tried to rub his belly John hissed and scratched at him, yowling loudly.

Kitty John turned his back angrily, stretching his spine. Dorian was equal parts amused and aroused. He was also touched by how well John was adopting the role and assumed that there was a comfort to becoming a feline and abandoning the responsibilities of being human John.

"Be nice, Kitty," Dorian warned, his hand slipping over the cotton-clad backside and up the tail once more, all the way to the end.

The kitty sidled up to Dorian in response, purring gently. "That is better," Dorian said, favoring him with a few scratches behind the ear. "I love Kitty John, I want to see him more often." Dorian was truly touched that John had done this for him and, to be honest, totally surprised.

John's erection was strained against his underwear and Dorian freed it gently, pulling at the garment until it was discarded off the side of the bed. "Kitty's don't wear pants," Dorian observed, nipping at John's lips.

John allowed the kiss a moment then bit Dorian's lip hard. When the android finally managed to pry his bottom lip from kitty-John's teeth, John meowed cockily, or tried to, at least. His attempted feline mewling was interrupted by his own happy, burbling laughter.

"I hope you appreciate that I did this for you," John said once he caught his breath, breaking out of his role. He tugged one of the ears off the top of his head and winced, "That hurt!"

"No, leave it on!" Dorian begged, taking it from John and snapping the ear back in place lovingly.

John rolled his eyes then playfully raised his wrist to his mouth, sticking out his pink tongue quickly to mimic a cat, then dissolving into laughter. Dorian laughed too, and then tackled him into the sheets.


	11. Day 11: One is awake while the other is

**Day 11: One is awake while the other is asleep**

Dorian sat in a chair in the dentist's office as John counted backwards from ten.

"Ten... nine... eight...sheft... sex... fff..." That was as far as he got. The anesthesia took and he was dead weight in the chair. Normally family members weren't allowed to stay in the room for oral surgical procedures but Dorian made a strong case-namely that he wasn't leaving John's side for any reason and anyone who disagreed could simply attempt to remove him physically.

The doctor breezed in wearing a surgical mask, his thick hair combed perfectly. Nothing like John's spiked up mess. Dorian secretly took a snapshot to show John later. Perhaps he could convince him to use a comb. With an annoyed grunt in Dorian's direction, the surgeon got to work, securing John's head in place and using a rubber wedge to prop his mouth open. A dental assistant suctioned the pooling drool from John's throat and the doctor shifted his dark eyes to Dorian before putting his gloved fingers into the waiting oral cavity. Dorian's face lit with blue and watched with all the patience he could muster. Everything the doctor did, Dorian looked up online.

After several minutes of digging around, the offending wisdom tooth was extracted. Dorian saw the blood on the doctor's gloves and traveling up the suction tube and he stood up fast.

"Sit yer ass back down, sir," the doctor warned with an accent uncommon for this area.

Dorian hesitated a moment. The doctor and he locked eyes, challenging each other silently. The DRN sat down. He knew the procedure was going as planned, it was just upsetting to see. "Sorry," Dorian said, "I was jarred by the amount of blood."

"That's why we keep loved ones in the waiting room," the doctor barked and got back to work.

Dorian adjusted in his seat and set his jaw, determined not to leave John's side for even a minute. Especially with Dr. Cranky Pants on the scene.

After stitching John back together and packing his jaw with gauze, the doctor stripped his gloves and walked to the sink to give his hands a thorough washing. As he scrubbed, he looked over his shoulder at Dorian and then strode out.

Dorian didn't get so much as a word from the doctor who had the bedside manner of a goat in scrubs. He was left there alone with John so he got up and inspected his partner with fretting eyes. John's lips were dry and raw and his face was swollen and puffy from inflammation and gauze.

He picked up John's limp hand and pressed a kiss into the palm when the door opened and a pretty, young blonde man in scrubs came in, singing to himself, interrupting. "Oh sorry," he winced, "there isn't usually anyone in here with the slugs."

"Slugs?" Dorian asked.

The kid winced again, "Shit! I mean shoot," he said, "I'm not supposed to say slugs in front of the family members. It's what we call them when they are out like this." He lifted John's arm by the sleeve a few inches and let it fall back down to his lap in demonstration.

Dorian looked at the young man with wide, shocked eyes.

He looked embarrassed and scratched the back of his head nervously while bearing his teeth on an over exaggerated smile, "Sorry, look, do me a favor and don't tell the doctor. I'm in enough trouble with him as it is. I don't need another lecture on the way home today."

Dorian blinked and nodded. "No worries, man," he assured, "Let's just get my slug taken care of."

The smile he received in response was so dazzling, Dorian almost shielded his eyes.

A wheel chair was produced and Dorian helped the blonde-haired dental assistant transport John into the chair. "We'll set you up in the recovery room and then it's my job to stay with you until he's awake enough to go home," the tech explained, fixing Dorian with blue eyes that rivaled his own. They may have even been a little bit brighter and Dorian wrestled with a little bit of jealousy.

"Thank you…" Dorian looked for a badge to find out the man's name, but it was obscured by the hem of his shirt.

"Jim," Jim said, smiling and gripping Dorian's hand firmly. They arrived at a low lit room with a comfortable sofa and Dorian helped hoist John out of the chair and onto the middle of the couch. Jim shut the door and they each sat on one side of John, propping him up.

"He's cute," Jim announced with a smile, fixing John's hair in a rather forward gesture, respiking the spots that had fallen. "Is he yours?"

"Mine," Dorian repeated, then nodded, "Yes, this is my slug."

Jim blushed and put a finger to his lips, "Come on, shhhh, don't let Len hear you."

Dorian was about to make a few choice comments on the doctor but he was interrupted by a moan from John as he rose from the murky haze of anesthesia.

"I'm here, baby," Dorian said, sliding an arm behind John's shoulder and giving him a squeeze.

"He's still a ways away from consciousness," Jim informed, patting John's limp hand. "He seems a little old for this procedure. Older than most, at least."

"He's not a big fan of dentists, or doctors, or anything medical, really," Dorian explained. "I think it has been bothering him a long time before I made him go get a check up."

"You sound stubborn, John," Jim said sweetly, clicking his tongue scoldingly and pulling a tissue out of a nearby box to catch a little bit of pink drool coming out of John's drug-slackened mouth.

Dorian watched Jim and decided he was genuine and nice. He relaxed a little.

The door to the room bumped open and the doctor poked his head in, crooking his finger at Jim. Jim smiled and said, "Be right back. Keep him sitting up." And he walked out to the hall.

Once the door shut, Dorian ran a hand through John's hair and said, "You did good, John. You made it through." John made a little noise in his throat and shifted his head gently.

When Jim returned, Dorian asked, "Did I get you in trouble?"

"What?" Jim asked, distracted, then caught up, "Oh no, no!" He laughed, "Len, I mean the Doctor wanted to make sure I was okay in here alone with you. Seems you didn't make the best impression with him." Jim's cheeks burned, "Oh, but don't tell him I said so!"

Dorian shook his head in disbelief. He was about to unload his own commentary on the doctor when John's pretty, glossy, dilated eyes made their first appearance. He moved his head groggily from one man to the next with the poise of an inebriated toddler.

"How are you feeling, sweetheart?" Jim asked.

John turned toward the foreign voice, his eyes making an effort to focus. "Shexshee," he declared, a bloody wad of gauze dislodging from his mouth. He looked down at the gauze in as stupor and attempted to jamb his finger into his mouth.

"No, no, no," Jim said, staying John's hand and smiling brilliantly, "You can't do that, honey."

Dorian shifted uncomfortably. He was still feeling jealous and these pet names weren't helping.

John swung his head to look at Dorian, slight recognition on his face, "Ninja seem-didja seep-didja see this guy here? I shink heesh an angel."

Jim smiled and put his head down. "This happens a lot," he admitted, "Don't worry."

Dorian frowned, "When can I take him home?"

"Soon as he can walk," Jim promised.

"I can carry him," Dorian countered.

Jim put a hand on top of Dorian's hand and gave him a steady, reassuring look, "He needs to prove he can walk before I can clear him, sweetie." Jim knew Dorian was worried and eager to leave this medical space. "I just need to make sure he's ready to go and there aren't any complications."

John was smiling like an idiot, listening to them talk. His hands were heavy on the ends of his arms and his mouth felt packed full. He was still numb from the top of his head to the back of his neck.

He tried to lift a hand to touch Jim and only ended up battering into him. Jim held his arm down firmly. Dorian started to apologize on John's behalf and Jim stopped him, "They all get like this. It will pass."

John spit out another piece of gauze. Jim pulled a glove from the box on the table and worked it onto his hand. "Open up, John!" he said, loud enough for John to listen. He picked the gauze off John's chin and tucked it gently back along his jaw. He yanked his hand back out in time to avoid getting bitten. "No more spitting out that gauze, it is there to help you, kiddo."

Dorian thanked Jim for his wealth of patience and kindness. John frowned at the orders being shouted into his face by the angel. But he nodded in foggy understanding. "Oh-key, angel," he slurred.

"Good boy," Jim said. He smiled at Dorian, "When he gets home, just give him cold liquids and keep him in bed as much as possible. I've called ahead and had your prescription delivered here. Don't let him take too many pills, follow the instructions on the bottle."

"I'll regulate the meds," Dorian said, that was a pre-established thing. John and pills were a mixture he hated. He was grateful he would be able to take John straight home without having to stop off at the pharmacy.

Half an hour later, when John stumbled across the room, Jim marked a time in the chart and gave Dorian the permission to take John home.

Dorian pulled the blue-eyed angel into a hug and said, "Thanks for getting John and me through this, Jim. You really _are _an angel."

The doctor, who was at that moment walking past, snorted at that remark and shook his head as he strode around the corner. _Jim? An angel? Must be out of his android mind!_

Dorian looped an arm around John, pocketed the prescription, and headed out to the cruiser. John was babbling incessantly and drooling. Dorian wrestled him into his seatbelt and pressed a kiss against his clammy forehead, "Stay in your seat, slug. I'll get you home and into bed as soon as possible." This had been a grueling day and it wasn't over by a longshot.


	12. Day 12: Making out

**Day 12: Making Out**

A kiss, _a real kiss_, quickens a human's heart. I never let John go until his ticker is bumpin' like a paint shaker.

It doesn't take long. He always seizes at first, his muscles locking like he's bracing himself for something terrible or unexpected. Then, as I breach his lips, I feel him slacken against me. If I was human, he'd knock me over the way he presses his weight into me with abandonment. I practice sometimes when I'm alone, but I can't seem to perfect the way he turns into a noodle whenever he wants. He can curl like a ball in bed and when he sits on the couch, his spine sinks lower and lower until he looks like a letter of the alphabet. The restrictions of my structured skeletal design do not allow for this. Once, while sick, he fell asleep on the couch and I carried him to his bed. It was remarkable how malleable his body was in my arms, limp and heavy.

And that's how he gets when we kiss. Like he can't control his muscles. In a good make out session, I uncoil his sinews a little more with each nip and taste until he is a puddle of warmth against my chestplate.

Right now, we're on the couch. I am trying to slacken my spine but it is unyielding. John has all his weight on me and my tongue is analyzing his mouth. I can tell he hasn't had enough to eat today, he's not brushing his back teeth as well as his front teeth, and that he needs more vitamin D. Of course, I never say any of these things during a kiss anymore. The last time I did, I received three days of the silent treatment and suffered through nicknames like '_bedroom security_,' _NSA-bot_, and '_Big brother Dee_' for nearly three weeks.

I slip over each tooth and the side of his tongue is like silk. I wonder if mine feels real enough for him but he doesn't ever complain. The tip of my tongue etched across the roof of his mouth makes him squirm.

"Dee, that tickles!" he protests, pulling away from my mouth and providing me with a ruffled look. His heart is pounding and his skin is flushed. His lips are puffy and kiss-rumpled.

The thin line of drool connecting our lips makes me smile and I swipe it away. I move like I am going to get up and I feel his hot palm on my arm.

"Where are you going?" he demands. I must remember to hide my amused smiles when my human does exactly what I want him to do. I turn back and reconnect our lips. He seizes and begins the melting process all over again but his hands grip at me desperately.

John's heart rate. It's time. I slide my mouth to the side of his face, down his chin. I pull away and slide off the couch to my knees. His ruddy cheeks and open mouth betray his excitement. I know everything about John Kennex as I pull at the button on his jeans.

. . . . . . .

**_First time writing from Dorian's POV. What do you think? _**


	13. Day 13: Eating Ice Cream

**Day 13: Eating ice cream**

Dorian looked at the waffle cone in his hand, piled high with butter brickle ice cream, consternation rumpling his face. He walked out of the ice cream shop behind John and into the summer air, following the man as he crossed the street to the benches that looked out on the river, the surface shiny in the sun.

John has his mouth around his triple scoop of cherry cordial ice cream in a chocolate dipped waffle cone.

"Why did you get me one?" Dorian asked, gesturing to the slowly melting treat in his hand.

"No one likes to eat ice cream alone," John explained. "Just hold it, okay?"

Dorian accepted John's flawed logic and held the cone. They chatted while John devoured his ice cream happily. Dorian frowned and felt compelled to point out that this was John's first meal of the day.

"Go jump in the lake," John replied, crunching on the final bites of his cone and licking his fingers.

"This is a river, John."

The cone Dorian held was dripping ice cream down his hands.

"Here give it to me," John said, holding out his hand for Dorian's cone.

"You aren't going to _eat_ it, _are you?" _Dorian asked warily.

"Yeah, I'm not going to waste that ice cream," John said.

Dorian turned his wrist and let go of the cone. It fell and cracked against the dirty ground, butter brickle oozing into an overjoyed anthill at their feet.

"Oops, my hand slipped," Dorian said.


	14. Day 14: First Trip Away Together

**Day 14: First Trip Away Together**

Dorian rubbed sunscreen into John's blanched skin and the process was very similar to the woman just down the beach who was wrestling her toddler into the sand to apply the protective cream.

"Jesus, Dee, you gotta glop it on like that?" Okay, not quite as bad as the toddler, but John always had to be a critic.

"I swear on my circuits, John," Dorian said through his teeth, "If you get burned I'll never forgive myself."

John looked up into the blue sky through his sunglasses and wondered why he had been cursed to fall in love with an android who perpetually behaved like an overprotective mother.

When Dorian finished he gave John a smack on the ass playfully, leaving a white, sunscreen handprint on his black swim shorts.

"Finally, can we go?" John asked, grabbing Dorian's hand and heading down to the shore, leaving their towels and cooler in the hot sand. Despite the perfect weather, the beach was scantily populated.

Dorian was wearing a loudly colorful pair of trunks. They hooked hands and walked along the wet sand amongst the lapping waves. Despite the heat, the water was fairly cold and John forced himself to keep his feet in until they could acclimate to the temperature.

"The lake is always so cold," he said, unlatching from Dorian's hand to pick up a smooth, blue shard of beach glass. He dropped it into the mesh pocket of his trunks.

John waded out into the water, shivering. Dorian followed, noticing a few other beachgoers giggling at the handprint on John's pants. Not wanting to catch heat for letting John parade around like that, Dorian cupped the water and splashed it onto the handprint quickly.

John's spine went rigid and he spun to look at Dorian, "Don't splash!" he laughed, splashing back.

They walked out over the large slimy rocks. John nearly fell three times. However, on the other side they found the sandbar. Nothing but rippled sand beneath their toes and clearer water in the shallow depths.

Soon the water felt warm and comfortable to John who had fully adjusted to the water and had sunk down to his shoulders now to escape the breeze. They floated in the sun and listened to the gulls. "This is the lake you came to when you were young?" Dorian asked. Their legs mingled in the water.

John nodded. "Seems just like it was then," he smiled, "thanks for coming with me, Dee."

Dorian put a hand behind John's back and kissed him. "You smell like sunscreen and lake water, pine trees, campfire smoke, and beer," Dorian listed off with innocent wonder.

"I smell like vacation," John assured Dorian with a wistful smile.

. . . . . . . .

**This may be boring but it speaks right out of my Michigander heart. **


	15. Day 15: Different clothes style

**Day 15: Different clothes style**

Dorian wasn't allowed to play. No synthetics on the field. Instead, he was sitting off to the side with the wives and the families, watching the game in the summer heat. John was up to bat and Dorian felt nervous for him for a moment but it dissolved away as he noticed the way those white pants hugged John's form. The little red stripe running down the outer seam made his processor overheat. The smart waistline looped with a black belt just below his tightly tucked-in shirt showed off John's ass and Dorian looked around to make sure no one else was staring the way he was.

John tapped at his shoes with the bat and swung it a few times before stepping up to the plate.

His jersey said Delta Precinct across the front and Kennex across the back in big block letters. The police insignia was stitched on the sleeve. Dorian clapped and shouted "Knock it out of the park, baby," right as the first pitch, thrown by a burly firefighter, whizzed right past John's distracted face.

"Steer-ike one," the ump announced, returning the ball. John glowered at Dorian in the stands then shook himself out as if ridding his android husband from his mind.

Halverson was on third base. If John could get a hit, the young police officer might be able to make it to home. The second pitch came fast and low and John swung and missed.

"Steer-ike two!"

John looked to the benches that served as the dugout. Sandra looked at him with a determined and serious nod of the head, her ponytail looped through the back of her team captain cap.

Richard had his arms folded over his chest, and Valerie was smiling her encouragement at John the way she always did. He'd trained himself not to see that look on her face as attraction or pity. The row of officers in matching uniforms seemed to portray a gamut of emotions from nervous nail chewing to complete and utter disinterest. He scanned his eyes over to Dorian, too, who gave him a thumbs-up from behind the chain-link barrier.

John turned back and looked into the eyes of the firefighter. The whole field was filled with an intimidating amount of bulk.

"Hey, batter batter!" A young fireman's wife taunted from the stands. "You're gonna strike out!"

Dorian turned to give her a hard look.

The pitch loosed and John swung, connecting low and sending the ball high up into the air. He dropped the bat and ran for the bases. Halverson crossed the home plate.

The ball thudded into the field before the outfielder could reach it. He dipped and grabbed it as John rounded for second base. As the ball soared for the second baseman, John slid hard on his right leg and managed to get to the pad just in time. The ref cleared him safe and John picked himself up off the ground.

Dorian cheered wildly, making a point to look back at the woman who had taunted John. He turned to the people next to him and gestured to John. "That one's mine," he said proudly.

John's white pants were coated with dirt up one leg. He batted at the fabric, sending little dust clouds and adjusted the cap on his head. The grit and sunshine on his shoulders made him feel happy.

They never beat the firefighters. However with Halverson's run, the game was tied. If John could get to the home plate with the next batter, they'd win for the first time in twelve years of playing this annual charity game.

He was focused. He was ready.

"Synthetic calibration incomplete."

"Fuck," John puffed out, poking at his leg. _Not now. not now. _ He knocked a fist into his synthetic knee. The slide into the base must have messed up the connection.

The second baseman gave him a funny look.

"Synthetic calibration incomplete."

Dorian was standing, watching him with curious, concerned eyes.

The guy on second base smirked at him. John gave him a look of pure murder. He straightened his back as Richard took the plate. Richard swung the bat a few times and stepped up. He looked determined and it was the most John had ever liked him. He wanted to win this year.

The first pitch connected and the ball was over the fence and out of the park. Delta precinct erupted and John ran to third base on his leg, cautious not to jar the connection too hard. They had won the game for the first time.

The team celebrated by waiting for Richard and then lifting him up. John laughed and stood to the side, not trusting his leg. The firefighters walked off the field and exchanged a few sportsmanly handshakes with the winners.

Dorian came around the barrier to meet John who was limping on his leg which gave out right after he'd crossed home. "We won!" John said happily, grateful to have Dorian to latch onto while his leg blinked.

John and Dorian arrived to the after-party a little late. Dorian had helped John recalibrate his leg and peeling him out of those pants had slowed things down considerably.


	16. Day 16: During Morning Rituals

**Day 16: During Morning Rituals**

Dorian puts the coffee on.

John hits snooze.

Dorian turns the roomba on so it will start cleaning the floors.

John hits snooze.

Dorian takes a quick shower.

John hits snooze.

Dorian dresses himself and runs a diagnostics test.

John hits snooze.

The smartbed informs John that he can no longer snooze.

John punches the bed.

The smartbed starts to tilt the mattress up.

John rolls out of bed and hops groggily to his leg. He rotates his mouth and stumbles to the bathroom.

Dorian waits on the couch with his hands folded.

John emerges from the bathroom smelling of soap, aftershave, and hair product.

Dorian starts breakfast.

John dresses himself.

Dorian sets breakfast on the table and calls to John.

John sits at the table, eats his cereal, and reads his cell-o.

Dorian picks the towels off the floor and puts them in the hamper.

John puts his dishes in the sink and fills his travel mug with coffee.

Dorian sits on the couch with his hands folded.

John turns on the morning news and yawns.

Dorian checks the time.

John checks his email.

Dorian grabs his weapon and holsters it.

John shrugs into his shoulder holster, grabs his cell phone off the charge mat by his bed, finds his keys, grabs his jacket.

Dorian collects John's coffee.

John smiles and gives Dorian a kiss.

Dorian makes a noise in his throat during the kiss.

John shucks his jacket, still kissing.

Dorian spills the coffee on the counter, still kissing.

John slaps his gun on the counter, still kissing.

Dorian walks John backwards down the hall, still kissing. They trip over the roomba.

John's hands work his pants loose, he kicks them off the end of his legs.

Dorian pushes John up onto the smartbed.

The smartbed beeps.

John and Dorian get the worst case again because they are chronically late for roll call.


	17. Day 17: Spooning

**Day 17: Spooning**

John was cross-eyed, staring at the tip of his nose. His soup spoon was balanced carefully.

He looked up at Dorian and spread his arms out. Ta-Da!

The spoon fell off his nose and splashed into the tomato soup, smattering him with red.

John looked down and smeared at himself with a napkin. Then he gave up, shrugged, and dipped his cheese sandwich in his soup and took an oversized bite.

Dorian shook his head slowly, his face gone blue.

"What are you doing?" John asked.

"Making a log of good ideas in case there is ever an android uprising."

John made a face, "Fat chance, but what was your idea?"

"A television show for androids," Dorian informed, "I'd call it, _Stupid Human Tricks__._"

John smirked, "Can I be your stroppy co-host?"

Dorian chuckled, "No baby, you'll be the star."


	18. Day 18: Doing Something Together

_Warning: Pirate Porn_

**Day 18: Doing Something Together**

Those heavy boots on the stairs alerted John to the return of the Dread Pirate Dorian, the scourge of the high seas, the most feared techno-pirate in the Western Hemisphere, and his entire world in the belly of this godforsaken ship. A smile curled on his face as John ran his fingers through his hair sloppily and quickly, and looked down at his opened shirt, pinching one middle button together just as the door to the captain's quarters kicked open.

There in the door was Dorian, his broad shoulders layered into an unnecessarily ornate jacket with a loose white shirt beneath that exposed his sun-beaten chest. His walnut colored skin glistened from sea spray and sweat and his lips twitched into a smile and fixed on his cabin boy. He walked into the room and sat heavily onto the chair beside his light screen desk. For charm, he had old, rolled, paper maps stacked on the surface. He stuck one foot out toward John who rushed to his knees in front of the swashbuckler and pulled at the boot, yanking off one then the other and setting them aside.

John sat obediently on his knees, his bare feet pressing into his cotton-clad backside. He sucked his lip, knowing better than to speak up to his violent seamaster without permission.

"What are you waiting for?" the annoyed pirate growled, picking up a map and studying it.

"What shall I do, sir?" John asked, leaning forward slightly.

Dorian shifted his eyes up to look over the top of his map at the man before him. He set the parchment down with a sigh and flexed his toes. "C'mere, boy," he beckoned, crooking a finger.

John rose to his knees and walked them across the old, ornate rug on the floor, most likely stolen from a much nicer ship. He didn't stop until he was stationed between the pirate's knees, the black, canvas pants were caked in salt and felt gritty to the touch. John was eager to tackle the buttons on the waist of the pants and unleash the kraken. He waited though, having learned his lesson when it came to the unpredictable will of the tyrannical, ill-tempered marauder.

The pirate stared him down, breathing through his nose evenly, a hint of amusement pinching the skin around his mouth into a dimple. Finally, he slowly worked at his own zipper and freed his cock, a monument of arousal glistening in the sun that trailed through the porthole. He reached one hand forward and seized a fistful of John's hair, yanking him slowly forward and bringing his wet mouth down over the plump erection.

John worked eagerly, slathering his tongue around the taut skin, his own gagging supplying plenty of lubricant for the task at hand. The pirate moaned in satisfaction, jumping his hips up to fuck deeper into the struggling throat of his servant. After only a few minutes, the rough corsair suddenly pushed John backwards, withdrawing from his throat and letting the lowly cabin boy land on the floor with a thud, a shocked expression on his sloppy face. Dorian stood, allowing his open pants to sink lightly down his hips. John wiped a sleeve across his mouth and looked up at his master with glistening eyes, soft and wet from fighting his oral reflexes. He was terrified he had done something wrong and cowered involuntarily as his captain approached, towering over him.

Dorian drew him to his feet by a fist twisted into the front of his shirt and kissed him deeply, tasting himself on his ward's tongue. John's heart knocked in his chest, quickened by the depth of the kiss. His hands gripped at the pirate's coat, feeling the subtle, torsional movements beneath. When he broke the kiss, the outlaw shoved John stumbling onto the bed and watched in delight as the man scrambled clumsily out of his clothing.

He leered lustily as his boy wiggled into the best position while shedding his own accoutrement and sliding lubricant down his thickened member. Mounting the bed and giving his thrall's upturned ass a hearty smack, the Dread Pirate Dorian plundered his treasure, stopping only after the cabin boy was plentifully bestrewn with a mingling of both their viscous releases.

John shivered from the sweat on his skin and Dorian sat up to pull the covers over both of them. He slid a warm, comforting hand across John's belly and drew him tight against him, nuzzling into his hair and breathing a happy sigh past his ear.

"Holo-program off," John finally said when the cells of his very being stopped quaking from the aftershocks of pleasure. The rustic boat cabin dissolved around them, turning back into John's own bedroom.

He turned in Dorian's arms and kissed him hungrily. "Are you okay?" Dorian asked, running his hands tenderly down the length of John's torso and past the curve of his ass. His fingers tentative and worried.

"Are you kidding?" John asked with a grin in his voice, "Thank you, Dee. It was perfect." He yawned loudly and stretched his muscles until they shuddered from exhaustion.

Dorian sighed and nodded, kneading at the tender, pinkened flesh on John's backside absent-mindedly. He watched as John drifted into a lazy, light sleep and pressed a gentle kiss on his hair-swept forehead. The human looked kiss-bruised and happy in the orange, evening sunlight painting them from the windows.


	19. Day 19: Formal Wear

**Day 19: In formal wear**

"We're late. We're late!" John said, flying out of the bedroom while readjusting the buttons on his waistcoat so they matched. Dorian was already waiting and ready to go.

"Your shoes are here, John," Dorian said, holding out a shiny pair of black wingtips.

John walked over and strapped them to his feet. When he stood up, Dorian re-knotted his tie and licked his thumb before smoothing back an errant hair. He dipped and fastened the final, missed button on John's waistcoat. John ducked away from him and pulled on his suit jacket.

Dorian, also in a very smart, tailored suit, held the door open then followed John out of the house. The annual policemen's gala was always a big deal and this was their first time as a couple.

They looked sharp as they got in the cruiser and headed downtown.

"Did you remember the tickets?" Dorian asked.

John pressed his lips into a hard line. Then he pulled a U-ie to a cacophony of horns and tire screeches and turned the flashing lights on, cussing viciously all the way back to the house.


	20. Day 20: Dancing

**Day 20: Dancing**

He wants me to show him how to dance. I swear, no matter what I do for this android, it's never enough. If I do this, tomorrow he'll want to learn to paint, or take a couples' yoga class, or go for a walk at the park. He's insatiable. If you give a mouse a cookie...

"Please, John," it's those puppy dog eyes that really do it for me. I'd love to say they don't affect me, but that would be a lie. "I want to practice before the big day. What if I can't do it?"

I don't respond and he grins, because he knows my silence is an agreement. _Dammit. _

He pushes the coffee table out of the way and slides his hands into mine. I stand there looking at him, waiting for the inevitable. The stereo system starts belting out _Never My Love_ by the Association, of fucking course. Cheesy, old, predictable.

He snaps his body close to mine, moves his hand to my waist and we're off. He's dragging me along, his body perfect, in line, his steps sure. Of course he can already dance. Why didn't I realize that?

He's leading me across the floor forcefully at this point and my feet don't know his steps. They collide with his clumsily and I try to pull away but that iron grip is pressing his hips against mine. I'm taller, dammit, I should be leading.

He dips me in the crescendo of the song, holding me practically off the ground and croons the lyrics along with the music.

_What makes you think love will end_

_When you know that my whole life depends_

_On youuuuu_

I deadpan up at him, knowing he isn't going to drop me. When we pull back up, he crushes me to his chestplate, and I wrap my arms around his neck. He sways; we're not dancing any particular dance anymore.

_Never my love_

_Never my love_

His voice is honey in my ear and I can feel it in my chest. Don't get me wrong, he can't sing for shit and it drives me insane how much he insists on doing it anyhow. But his warm, whirring inner workings pulsing against my hollow, organic frame makes my stomach tug to the floor. My heart quavers and I wonder if this is how I die, being lugged around my living room by this overly-romantic sap of a synthetic. My mind hitches on the forbidden term, and I am glad he can't read my thoughts. I don't know why I worry about that so much...maybe because he always seems able to predict what I'm thinking and feeling.

He knows my pulse. I can feel him smiling into my neck. He acts like he's new to this world, like everything is happening for the first time. Don't let him fool you. He always knows exactly what he's doing. His hands slip down my ribs and over to the small of my back. Fingertips at the waist of my pants and he's kneading the flesh of my ass in his big hands.

"We aren't fucking dancing like this at our wedding," I grunt out, as he hefts me up by my cheeks, lifting me to my toes. My erection is trapped against his stomach. I wanna be done dancing. I gotta get out of these jeans. "Dammit, Dee!"

_How can you think love will end_

_When I've asked you to spend your whole life _

_With me _

He walks us down the hallway, his hands still full. He doesn't release his lewd grip until he drops me onto the bed.

"I thought you needed to practice," I make an effort to sound pissed off. He smiles. It's obnoxious. Adorable. Stupid. Lovely. Aggravating. Maddening. Sexy. Fuck me, Dee, Fuck me right fucking now. _Fuck._

Dorian pushes my shirt up a little and lays an infuriatingly slow, deep kiss on the softest part of my belly.

He lifts up his chin and looks into my eyes and he's not a puppy dog anymore. He's a dragon, about to press his treasure down under his belly. My breath is rocking out of my gaping mouth. I feel obscene.

"_You_ need to practice dancing, John," he confesses, holding me into my clothes still. I'm gonna ruin all the fun and these jeans if he doesn't hurry the fuck up.

I squirm beneath him, grab at him.

"Because at our wedding," he catches my wrists and holds my hands down, "I need us to look good out there."

I'm about to knee him in chest and he finally lets me go. As he twirls me around, face down in the sheets, I realize I forgot how much I like dancing.


	21. Day 21: CookingBaking

**Day 21: Cooking/Baking**

"Old mother Hubbard," Dorian said, shaking his head at the meager pantry in the rental vacation home. "I thought you went shopping."

"Did," John was perched on the kitchen counter, his synthetic leg was on the charger. He was well tanned from the sun after a day on the beach and the warmth still radiated off of his naked shoulders. The man cooked like hash-browns. His swimming trunks were mostly dry but he felt the gritty sand trapped beneath them still.

"Nothing to order around here, it is Sunday night," Dorian said, searching for local restaurants. All the places that delivered were closed, leaving them with snooty, small, vacation-town dining. He knew John wasn't going out without his leg which had run cold out of charge.

"What do we have that we can make?" the human scratched at a mosquito bite on his elbow and pulled his leg up onto the counter, his dirty bare foot joining the rest of him on the food prep surface.

Dorian opened the fridge and said, "The owners left some stuff behind..."

John raised his arms up as if exalting the heavens, "Yes! What have we got?"

Dorian peered unhappily at the ingredient list on some of the frozen meals. Terrible, also, out of date. He grabbed big bag of frozen veggies, "Broccoli?"

"I'm on vacation, Dee," John said seriously, warning in his tone.

"Poptarts?" Dorian countered, shutting the freezer and locking away the ice-burnt contents.

John considered it, his mouth shifting from one side to the next. "Nah, don't want to ruin breakfast tomorrow."

Dorian puffed out an annoyed sigh. John slid off the counter carefully onto his leg. It was odd to move around without his synthetic, but it also made him feel authentic. "Get out, Dee, I'll make myself something," he prodded at the DRN with insistent fingers and stayed close to the counter to help him get around. "Go take a shower, get a charge. I want you at your best tonight, tiger."

He was a little low on power and patience, but Dorian was really shocked by John's decision. It wasn't that the human couldn't cook, it was just that he never did, not when Dorian was there to do it for him. Certainly never with such a happy look on his face and one leg off. Still, he left to go plug in, staying within earshot of the tiny kitchen.

John hummed to himself while he looked through the cabinets. He was the one who had grocery shopped so he knew what was available. He hopped around the kitchen, happily whipping up a huge helping of spaghetti for himself. Noodles in water, then sauce on the noodles. So simple.

When he was done he pulled himself up onto the counter again and ate the bowl of pasta and canned sauce sloppily. Dorian appeared in the doorway not long after, leaning and smiling. "Good dinner?"

John slurped a noodle up and shook his head, "Nah. but easy enough. Used to make it for my dad when I was a kid." He shrugged and dropped the empty bowl in the sink, fork and all, "Fast, tastes good enough, fills your belly." There was a lingering hint of sadness to the story that neither man acknowledged.

Dorian nodded. "You ever gonna get out of those swim trunks?" A few seconds later the damp suit hit Dorian right in the face.

The beach and sun brought out a different side of John Kennex, Dorian thought, as he picked the naked man up like a sack of very sexy potatoes, making a mental note to disinfect the counter in the morning.


	22. Day 22: Arguing

**Day 23: Arguing**

If you've never been in a fight with an Android let me tell you what to expect.

Take the maddest anyone's ever been at you and multiply it by fifty. Now add those gemstone-quality eyes, sharp as paper-cuts, and the poutiest lips that you've ever not been allowed to kiss.

But, the silence is the worst.

Look, I've pissed off plenty of people in my life; men _and_ women. Pissed off people are noisy even when they are giving you the cold shoulder. They sigh, huff, and breathe hard. They slam things, tap fingernails, and turn book pages with testy flips of the wrist. They shift and rustle and stomp. All of it designed to let you know what a horrible, shitty person you had been. Trust me, humans are downright loud when they are not talking to you.

Dorian's silent treatment is like a house after a funeral. He goes so still, so quiet, that you gain a sixth sense. You can feel the electricity around you. The refrigerator doesn't run, it roars. The silence worms under your skin and makes you antsy. Not to mention, Dorian at least, he sits there like a fucking statue. Like he's been erected as a monument to how much of an asshole I am.

That's where we are now. He's so mad; he's just sitting on the sofa in utter silence. It's like he's shut down entirely, but his eyes follow me wherever I go, like two heat-seeking daggers.

The worst of it all is that he doesn't get this way easily. He's so good at taking all the little, stupid things I say and do in stride. I can do almost anything I want to him and he keeps loving me, supporting me, kissing on me. I have to do something _fucking terrible _to get him to this point. And, once again, I fucking did.

I waited until he was busy with repairs to follow a lead. I had a hunch and for what it was worth, I was right. Dorian wanted to go through the proper channels, and he wanted plenty of back up. _But this was Insyndicate_ and I still don't know if we have a mole at the precinct or not. We'd argued about it but it wasn't getting me anywhere.

So, I found a way to ditch him at Rudy's and went on my own.

It was the warehouse where things were being stored, but it was a little less empty than I had expected.

Honestly. I got out alive. But he feels betrayed.

So, it's been three hours of this now. When we got back from the hospital, he told me he was mad and then sat down. Like a trophy. I imagine him with a little plaque under his feet. "World's Worst Boyfriend Award: John R. Kennex."

So now I have a choice. I can go to him on my knees and pull on his hands, and I can beg him for forgiveness. I can tell him I'm stupid and foolish. I can apologize until he finally concedes.

That is what I ought to do. But goddammit, I am not going to beg.

"You're being a child," I finally break the silence he's been cultivating. I get nothing in response. So I dig myself deeper, "You can't just sit there and stare at me, Dor-i-an!"

His head snaps to the side to look right at me. Not gonna lie, I nearly jump out of my skin. "You gamble with your own safety for fun, John," his tone is acidic and accusatory. "You never learn. You never stop. You never change." His voice is barely above a whisper, I have to lean in to hear it.

"You're over-reacting." He's not. He's _really_ not. I took a bullet in the fray. Okay, three bullets. Thank god two were in the synthetic leg. Third one took a little chunk of the top of my ear. I should apologize. I should thank him. I'm not really that kind of guy.

"Why don't you just say what you want to say, and get it over with?" I demand. I can feel my ear throb under the bandage. I hope he takes the bate. I want to have a fight about this. We need to drag it out into the light and shout back and forth and get it out of our systems.

Dorian reaches up a hand and I flinch. Maybe I do deserve a good slap, but he's not going to give it to me. He'd never do that, at least, not without a warning. He looks so fucking disappointed in me, I wanna slap myself. His fingers touch my bandage so gently. "Could have been your head," he says through a disappointed push of soft air.

"It wasn't," I shout, craning my neck away from him as if his touch is revolting._ It's not. _Jesus, I just want him to shout back. Throw something. These are the things I am used to.

"Maldonado isn't happy with you."

I feel a surge of renewed righteousness and snarl, "Yeah, thanks a fucking lot, Benedict Android." He turns his head back, assuming his silent position.

"Fucking tattle tale," I murmur.

He stands up and stalks past me, down the hall, into the back room where he keeps his things. The slamming door jolts me, makes my heart jump against my chest. It's the loudest thing I've heard all day.

I wonder, bitterly, if he's packing up his shit.

No, he's probably on his charger. I could never piss him off so bad he'd leave me. He's just mad. I know it. _I hope. _

I reach for my crutches and think about going back to check on him. A little wave of pain runs through me. The leg that got shot up is the one he gave me. I loved that leg.

_It's just a leg. _

It's just an argument.

No. Arguments involve talking.

This is a shutout.

I feel like a crazy person. I feel irrational and stupid. It's the worst punishment he could ever inflict on me.

This is what happens when you fight with an android.


	23. Day 23: Making Up After

**Day 24: Making Up After**

I reached a full charge two hours ago and since then, I've been simmering on my docking station, thinking about the ridiculous bag of water sitting out in the living room, pouting on the couch. I know how much he hates it when I tune him out and refuse to talk to him. I can see him go through emotional stages in rapid succession. He rotates his gears between anger, sadness, childish sulking, guilt, fear, and everything in between.

Worst of all, I think he wants me to get mean with him. I know that he knows what he did, running off to play super cop, _again_, was nothing shy of reckless. His gross negligence nearly cost him his life, _again_. It wouldn't be hard to shout at him, or even knock some much needed sense into his dense, human skull. Trust me, right now, I'd like to put him through the wall.

What is hard is shutting everything down and observing him silently and impassively. He thinks I'm punishing him. Trust me, if I was punishing him, it wouldn't be by sitting with my hands folded and quietly thinking. He has no idea how hard it is not to kiss his lips when I see them tremble, or slap that sneer off his tough-guy face. However, I know that the longer I let him stew, the more he'll think about what he did and why it was wrong.

I step off the charger and shake out my arms and legs a little, rotating the stiffness out of the joints. The hallway is bright in the early morning light. This is the first time in a long while I didn't join John in his bed, holding him through his inefficient sleep patterns. When I peek in on his room, I see his bed is empty and still neatly made.

Dammit, John.

I know he hasn't left the apartment. I have the locks on the door programmed to alert me. I know I seem like a mother hen but when you are with someone who harbors a personal vendetta, a penchant for danger, a former drug addiction, and a low sense of self-worth, well, you'll start a personal relationship with the electric doors, too.

He's on the couch, snoring, twisted in a thin blanket that isn't long enough to cover his feet and his chest at the same time. His eyes look a little red and I take a moment to carefully check the bandage over his ear without waking him.

I take a seat on the other couch, sinking against the pliable cushion.

When John snorts awake, he looks up bleary eyed and a little smile crosses his lips when he sees me. It makes me feel terrible, but I don't return it.

"Mornin' Dee," his sleepy voice sounds husky and scratchy.

His face falls at my lack of response.

"Oh right, you're mad at me," he mutters, fisting a knuckle into his eye and pushing himself upright. He grabs at his crutches and wobbles up onto them and swings himself to the bathroom.

I send a message to Rudy, asking when John's leg will be in and ready. Probably in two days, comes his reply.

When John comes out he plops back on the couch. He ripped the bandage off his ear in the shower. The little red wound at the top edge of his ear looks raw and open.

He glowers at me, challenging me to say something. I hear his tummy groan and scan him in earnest. His stomach is empty and he hasn't even had anything to drink since he got home from the hospital yesterday. He barely slept.

I decide to end this. I get up and walk to the kitchen and make him a bowl of cereal and glass of orange juice. I set it in front of him on the coffee table and sigh. He looks up at me, his eyes searching my face, his emotions rotating again. I wonder where he'll land.

Finally, a lipid layer of unshed tears gloss his eyes, he says, "I shouldn't have."

I lean down and press my lips into his, nesting him into the back of the couch. I place a knee on each side of his thighs and sit above him. As my mouth envelops his, I feel the wet splash of his tears dripping past his face. I put my hands on his shoulders and pull away from his eager mouth, looking down into his rightfully embarrassed visage.

"Don't do that ever again," I look at him hard. He looks up at me and I see gratitude in his pained expression. His hands run up my thighs and until they rest on my behind. I reach back grab at his wrists and pin them against the top of the couch, on both sides of his head. His pulse quickens in my grip. "I mean it, John."

"I won't," he says, void of his normal flippant attitude.

I dip down and kiss him again, releasing his wrists. When I sit up again I smear the tears off his face. "Eat your breakfast," I instruct him and he is eager to comply.

I go into the bathroom and get the supplies I need to disinfect and bandage his ear. When I close the mirror to the bathroom, I see myself in the reflection. The wetness from John's tears is still on my face. I rub them off with my sleeve and head out to fix up my soggy, errant, lovable human.


	24. Day 24: Gazing into Each Other

**Day 25: Gazing into Each Other's Eyes**

Dorian sighed, "Is this really necessary?" as he was scanned before entering the facility. The guards gave him no response.

They wended their way through the corridor and down the cylindrical pit that lead to rows and rows of cells, commonly referred to as cubes. Finally, the reached one with a small holo sign that read, "John R. Kennex."

The guard peered in through the window and then opened the door. John was on the bed in the corner, his arms tucked behind his head. He sat up so fast he bonked his head on the slanted ceiling over the bunk in the wall in excitement when he saw Dorian. "Oof oww," he said, rubbing his head, "Dee!"

He jumped to his feet in his loose fitting jumper and guard held up a hand. "Hold still, inmate!" he barked, "take a seat at the table."

John cocked his head but took a deep breath and sat at the table in his cube. The top of it a thick but functional touch screen. He folded his hands.

The guard directed Dorian to the other side of the table. "Stay seated the whole time," he instructed, "You have fifteen minutes."

Dorian sat obediently and waited for the guard to leave, latching them in.

As soon as the door shut, they wound their hands together tight. They looked at each other with longing eyes, too far away to kiss, Dorian brought John's hands up and leaned forward to kiss the back of his wrist.

"I miss you," John admitted, closing his eyes at the feel of Dorian's lips on his skin. "I can't wait for this to be over. Everything okay at home?"

"John, only fifteen more days," Dorian said, massaging his fingers, "how has it been?"

John gestured around the room, "Fucking boring."

"Maldonado is eager for you to get back to work," Dorian said, smiling to see the relief on John's face.

This was day twenty of John's infiltration of the prison system. Dorian hadn't been able to visit him before this. No one knew about the operation, even the prison was on need to know basis. The guards were clueless.

"Everything going smoothly?" Dorian asked, looking around.

John tapped his nose, a prearranged signal to say that he was still attempting to find information. He only spent an hour a day outside with other inmates and it was going slow. He was less capable of joining the gangs than he had hoped to be and getting close to the head honcho was harder than he had anticipated. More than once he'd feared for his life.

Dorian nodded. "Regardless," he said, "fifteen days."

John nodded, his eyes shifting up to look at Dorian's. They locked there and observed each other.

When the guard called a one minute warning, John whispered, "I miss you so much. Be home soon."

"Be safe, sweetheart," Dorian murmured. The door was creaking open and he stole a quick kiss, popping a peck on John's forehead.

Dorian walked out and looked back over his shoulder one last time as his undercover lover.


	25. Day 25: Getting Married

**Day 26: Getting Married**

Dorian was pacing a worn spot in the floor. How could John be late? Everything had been planned perfectly. He'd made sure. After releasing John from most of his co-planning responsibilities, the stubborn man had one single job he needed to do: Show up, dressed.

Their friends were gathered in the small clearing. It was a simple, small ceremony, but impeccably decorated and planned—much to the detriment of John's wallet.

Rudy, looking sharp but wiry in his suit as he fussed over Dorian, was trying to calm the nervous groom. "He'll be here," he reassured, "He will."

"He's late," Dorian said through his teeth, an annoyed look on his face as Rudy brushed his long, skinny fingers across his immaculately-clad shoulders as if dusting off the worry.

The guests were sitting it the chairs, looking restless. Sandra was marrying them, as per their request. Dorian peered out at the gorgeous setting, feeling all the more aggravated by his missing husband-to-be. He dashed off another angry text.

Finally, John arrived, soaking wet from head to toe in his wrinkled tux. He had a bloody nose and he was missing one shoe. He heaved himself in looking determined. "I'm here, Dee," he was panting, "I'm sorry I'm late."

Dorian and Rudy observed him in shock. "Are you kidding me?" Dorian asked, "What happened?" His face fell, stricken with concern.

"Long story," John said. Dorian grabbed the handkerchief from Rudy's pocket without so much as asking, and dabbed at the blood under John's nostril tenderly. There were several drips on his white shirt.

John pulled a deep, long breath into his mouth and then pushed it out once again, heavily. "I ruined your big day."

"_Our_ big day," Dorian corrected, inspecting John's face from different angles. He ran his fingers through John's hair. It was full of product ruined by the water. "And you didn't ruin anything."

"They are getting restless," Rudy informed, peeking out at the guests.

Dorian planted a kiss on John's chin. "Give me the abridged version of what happened, sweets."

John rolled his shoulders. "Everything that could go wrong, did. My button, and then—" he

hitched his breath, "The limo driver was... and I didn't want to. So the taxi, and this guy wanted it. I needed it. He slugged me. But—hehe—you should see him. Uh, near a fountain, though," John stuttered, gesturing to his soggy state in defeat, unable to cobble a simple sentence together.

Dorian was listening but also wringing John out, un-rumpling his hair and clothing, and refastening buttons and ties, pulling things tight like a mother bundling a toddler for winter. "You're here, that is all I care about," Dorian lied, looking John over critically. Only one shoe, that would never do. "Take off your shoes and socks," the android instructed.

John did so with numb obedience. Dorian kicked his shoes off, as well and peeled his socks off. "This will have to do," he said, reaching down and grasping John's hand.

John looked at the hand holding his own and followed it up to meet the kindest eyes he'd ever known. He smiled lopsidedly, happier than he'd ever been, though he truly wished he was wasn't in this sopping tux.

"You ready?" Dorian asked as Rudy left them to cue the music.

John nodded, smiled, and squeezed the warm, synthetic fingers around his own, drips of water still running down from his sleeve. "Thanks, Dee," he murmured and pressed a kiss into the android's cheek, "Let's do this." 


	26. Day 26: On their birthdays

**Day 27: On one of their birthdays**

_For some reason, I struggled with this one. So I copped out and wrote Birthday haiku _

**_John's Birthday:_**

_. . . . . . . . . . . _

Dee's sugared penis

Candle wax on tender skin

Happy birthday, brat

**_Dorian's Birthday:_**

_. . . . . . . . . . . ._

Long walk, holding hands

Healthy meal out on the porch

John's full body blush


	27. Day 27: Doing something ridiculous

**Day 28: Doing something ridiculous**

You never know how drunk you are until you go into the bathroom, away from the din of the bar. John Kennex stumbled up to a urinal and leaned into it comfortably, propping his swaying body up as he worked himself out of his pants and relieved himself against the porcelain. He was drunk. Normally, he wouldn't touch the cool sides of the urinal with a ten foot poll. The silence of the bathroom sucked at his ears and made him feel like he had walked into the vacuum of space.

When he finished relieving himself, he tottered to the sink on numb legs and pulled his eyes to the mirror to look himself over. He fixed his hair and leaned in close with a grimace to check his teeth.

"Primping?" Richard Paul asked, walking in and catching John in the mirror, "Thought this was the mens' room."

John looked the shorter man up and down, "So did I."

He walked out, steadying himself enough to bump roughly into Richard's shoulder. Neither man was actually mean, but they enjoyed their rivalry which was, in no uncertain terms, real.

Back out in the bar, John straddled his stool at the tall table where Dorian was waiting for him.

"John, can we go home?" his blue eyes looked around the noisy bar. Most of the Delta precinct was there, starting to look a little sloppy. A line of MXs milled in one corner, looking impassive. They were designated drivers.

"One more beer," John half begged, because it always worked.

Dorian smiled weakly and held up a reluctant finger, "'kay." He watched John walk to the bar and lean on the edge and wait. Richard sidled up next to him and Dorian sighed, ready to get up in a pinch. As he suspected, it wasn't long before they were jostling each other roughly. Richard got a good shoulder thrust on John and knocked the taller man to the filthy bar floor. He landed on the dusty ground, covered with peanut shells and jellied beer drips.

Dorian made his way over in time to catch John by the back of his shirt as he struggled to his feet and launched himself at the smaller detective.

"Nope," Dorian said, "Stop it, guys."

"Oh, your little synth saved you," Richard laughed, "better do as your boyfriend says, Kennex."

John turned to look at Dorian, yanking himself free. He was seething.

The bartender pointed at them, "You three, out!" There were loud whooping and hooting noises from their coworkers.

"Take it outside?" John asked Richard, obligingly, his lips curling over his teeth. John had flattened, frayed peanut shells stuck to his sweater.

"You fucking betcha," Richard nodded and headed for the door.

John went to follow, slapping Dorian's hands away and saying through his teeth, "quit pawin' me!"

He followed Richard outside the bar with Dorian on his heels. Most of the bar emptied into the dimly lit parking lot, unwilling to miss a good fight.

Dorian couldn't seem to get John to calm down, he was frustrated. The boys were circling each other like terrible boxers in a late round. Sandra pushed her way past the drunk members of her team and shouted, "Paul! Kennex!"

Both men groaned and turned to face their tiny captain.

"We'll settle this on the O-Course."

Both men groaned louder.

"Nevermind Dick, I don't wan' fight you anymore," John grumped.

"Me neither," Richard slurred, "_Dick_."

"Tough," Maldonado said. "Dorian, drive us." Dorian made a very pleased face and headed for the cruiser. Everyone ran inside to close their tabs and get their MXs to take them to the police obstacle course.

An hour later, both men fought to make it over the climb wall in the middle of the course, failing miserably in their drunken state. Their coworkers egged them on. After falling for the fifth time, John stood up in the sand, feeling queasy.

Sandra called to him, "Keep trying John, we aren't going to stop till one of you finishes this course."

He looked miserable. Richard was puking off to the side. John realized that the only way he was going to get over the goddamned wall was if he and Richard worked together.

Richard stood up, wiping his mouth on the front of his shirt.

"I wanna get you home before the streetlights come on, so your mama doesn't get mad," John said, "Give me a boost and I'll pull you up."

Richard gave him a miserable look, "Streetlights have been on for hours." He sized the wall up again and then sighed. "Okay, I'll help, just to get it over with." He squatted and cupped his hands. John put one foot in Richard's open palm and Richard lifted him up slowly, shakily. John's fingers caught the edge and he hoisted himself up on to his belly and reached down for the shorter man's hand.

When they both made it to the other side of the wall, the whole precinct cheered. John flipped everyone off and continued the race. He wanted to be home, even though he somewhat suspected that Dorian wasn't too pleased with him.

He and Paul tripped their way through the agility tires, flat out cheating in the end. They managed to climb the ropes to the zip platform with only minimal rope burns on their hands. On top of the platform to the zip-line, they fought over the handle that hung on the single line. Both men had reached the top at the same time and only one man could win. There was only one line to the bottom.

Kennex was taller but Paul was spry. He underestimated John's willingness to fight dirty. it was amazing neither man fell off the ledge as they tussled on the top of the platform.

A quick knee to the groin toppled Richard and John slid to the finish line in victory. Richard climbed down the ladder to the platform once he was done cradling his stomach and cursing John's name in a vitriolic, musical torrent of Spanish curse words that would make his dear sweet mother faint. Or beat him. Or both.

John put his arms up in victory. His sweat smelled like beer. His sweater smelled like vomit. He was covered in grass stains, mud, and bruises. No one lifted him up or cheered for him. Sandra looked at him with a slight shake of the head.

"Come on, I won," John huffed.

"You're an ass," Richard snapped.

John stepped up to him chest to chest, they were yelling again.

Sandra looked to Dorian and said, "Get your human out of here before I throw him in a holding cube."

Her eyes locked on Richard's MX, "You too, buddy, let's go."

There was no fighting an android on a mission. Neither man had a Play-doh's chance in preschool of standing their ground when their android locked onto them and dragged them away. The MX explaining logically that the Captain had ordered him to do this. Dorian explaining to John that he was in big trouble and hoping that he had enjoyed his last beer for a good long while.

John didn't care, as he stumbled behind Dorian who was pulling him too fast and holding his wrist too tight, he muttered, "I won. I'm the white cheater."


	28. Day 28: Doing something sweet

**Day 29: Doing something sweet**

A bullet flew past John's face so close and so fast, he could feel the push of air on his skin. He looked to Dorian who was trying to get in front of him to form a shield.

John leaned up against a huge metal tank and turned his head to Dorian who finally passed him, looking annoyed.

John leaned in to say something, Dorian figured it was tactical advice. Instead he said, "It smells _so_ fucking _good_ in here!"

"Focus, John," Dorian said. He shook his head and dove out to fire a bullet, taking out one of the two shooters. How in the hell did it come to this...a shootout in a candy factory.

"I think I saw an oompa loompa," John snorted, laughing at his own stupid, ill-timed joke.

"_John_," Dorian said, firing more shots but missing the second shooter who was on the move. Dorian prodded John to new cover. They were in front of a long counter with a huge, heavy strip of Cookies'n'Creme fudge laid out, getting a hardened crust in the open air. All the bakers had evacuated the building.

John stuck his finger in the fudge and scooped up a chunk to his mouth. Dorian shoved him down. A bullet whizzed through the fudge. John's face looked annoyed and he stood up and fired three rounds, taking out the drug dealer with a lucky but skillful third shot between the eyes.

With the firing over, his ears were ringing in the hot, sugary space. John picked up a chunk of fudge and took a bite.

Dorian looked at him and said, "What is _wrong_ with you, John? You didn't take that fire fight seriously at all. You were like...like…"

"A kid in a candy store?" John asked, swallowing and letting his tongue probe at the sticky, leftover sweetness in his mouth.

Dorian's face discoed up but he stayed silent. John licked his fingers, "Those guys were terrible shots. And you know, I'm on this new medication. It helps you calm down, go with the flow, makes you feel great. The anger management therapist wrote the script for me."

Dorian closed his eyes a moment, unwilling to look at his human. There wasn't an ailment he wouldn't chase with a pill. John Chemical-Fix Kennex. John Just-hook-it-to-my-veins Kennex. John the-dosage-on-the-bottle-is-only-a-suggestion Kennex.

When he opened them again, John wasn't beside him. He was off sampling other candies at the various cook stations. Dorian went to check on the bodies of the men who they had been pursuing. Clean teams came in to collect evidence and bodies.

Dorian went off to collect John. He found the man chipping away at a solid mass of caramel, biting into a hunk from the edge of the knife.

He had a full looking bag under his other arm.

When Dorian said, "let's go," John gave him a sugary kiss. His sticky chin making Dorian's face feel grubby.

"We have...paperwork to do…John, let me see those pills."

John walked out to the cordoned area and into the sun. Dorian followed. Maldonado was on the scene. She looked John up and down. "Everything go okay in there?" she asked.

"Hunky Dorian," John replied, sliding his eyes back at his android and winking at Sandra. He got into the passenger's seat of his cruiser so he could continue to eat.

Dorian rolled his eyes and gave the captain succinct details. Then he got in the driver's seat and rolled them home. He needed to figure out what kind of happy pills that quack was feeding to his loopy, well-sugared husband.


	29. Day 29: In Battle, Side by Side

_**Sorry folks, this one was posted in the wrong place the first time! **_

**Day 22: In battle, side by side**

"You want…_that_ much?" John asked, staring at the cell-o in front of him. Dorian was looking too, his eyes shiny.

"These are real flowers, gentleman," the florist sniffed arrogantly, "If you want something cheaper, go somewhere and get some organic printer flowers. They will smell wrong, and look wrong, but they'll be cheaper."

"Deal," John said, all too happy to get the hell up and get out of there.

Dorian put a hand on the waist of John's pants and yanked his ass back down in the seat. John have him a furious look once he was seated again.

"C'mon, John, this is important!" Dorian grumbled. "You promised!"

The smarmy, satisfied look on the florist's face made John want to rearrange his teeth for him. Instead, he felt Dorian's grip on his back and relaxed a little. Forcing himself to smile-though it came out like a sneer. "Surely, we can negotiate."

The florist sighed testily. John gestured to the quote he'd been given, "This is more than half the budget for the whole wedding. We can't spend half our money on dying flowers."

"You will look back on this day forever and you'll remember those flowers for the rest of your lives-"

John held up a hand, "Save it buddy."

"Please," Dorian added politely, quietly. John shifted his eyes toward the DRN and sucked his teeth. He wasn't sure who the please was meant for, or in what context, but it tugged at his heart.

"Here's our counter offer," John punched in a few numbers into the Cell-o screen and slid it back over to the man who purpled.

John waited a few seconds then stood up again. "Come on, Dee, honey, organic-printed flowers always have more vibrant colors, anyhow."

Dorian puffed out his bottom lip but stood. John called him 'honey' and he couldn't ever argue when the terms of endearment came out.

They gripped hands and headed for the exit.

"Wait," the man called, "Fine. Fine. You have a deal."

They made arrangements then headed for the car. In the dirt parking lot, silos and water towers littering the agro district's landscape, Dorian pushed John against the cruiser and bumped his pelvis into the taller man. He laughed into John's mouth, then pulled back and asked, "How did you do that?"

John shrugged like it was nothing but his smile betrayed his pride. He had been really regretting agreeing to plan this wedding with Dorian. However, he had to monitor his money and ensure that Dorian wasn't going overboard or getting jerked around.

Dorian let him up with a final nip and they both got into the cruiser.

"What next?" John asked, scratching flowers off the list of tasks on his phone.

"Cake," Dorian said, with a serious nod of the head, eyes narrowed and ready.

"Let's fucking do this," John said, gunning it out of the parking lot, leaving a cloud of brown dust in their wake. This was war.


	30. Day 30: Doing Something Hot (FINAL CH)

**Day 30: Doing something hot**

John hissed like a faulty valve. He'd gone for an impromptu dip in the river this morning in the pretty light. When he got out, he laid face down on the lounge deck chair in the back of his house and promptly fell to sleep. Before he woke, his shoulders and back were burnt to a crisp. Worse still, the tender backs of his thighs were scorched red and his every movement was agony.

Dorian rubbed aloe from the green bottle in the fridge on his thighs as he hugged a pillow in bed. Every touch burned and-

_[Hey, goddammit, what is this? _ This _is what you choose for something hot? Jesus, I don't even get sunburnt. I bronze. No. Choose something else.]_

[...okay, John. Sorry, geeze. Ahem...]

John was in a rare mood. He was listening to his music on his wireless headphones, dancing in his rare solitude, and he had a chocolate cake rising in the oven.

_[Listen, if your plan is to make me burn myself on that oven, I swear I'm gonna lose it.] _

[Well...]

_[That's what I thought. No. Fucking no. ]_

[Okay lemme see...]

"How big is this desert, anyhow?" John asked, his T-shirt wrapped around his head to protect him from the sun. The heat rising off the sand made his vision in every direction blurry and difficult to trust.

"I don't know man, my GPS is broken, I can't connect to the neural net out here," Dorian griped, trudging behind John.

"Next time they need someone to infiltrate the mafia, we're saying no," John said, watching as a buzzard circled overhead, "If we even get out of this alive."

Dorian opened his mouth to tell John not to be so pessimistic, but he realized he was feeling pretty negative himself at this point and-

_[I'm going to hurt you. And not in a way that you think you'd like. I mean it. How am I supposed to walk in the desert with my leg and my android? How much of a charge do you think those things keep. This story has nowhere to go but down. ]_

[Oh I didn't think about that.]

_[Of fucking course not.] _

[Look you're making this really hard.]

_[That's all I'm asking for….]_

[oh!]

_[Yeah.] _

[hmmmmm]

John was hard as a rock.

_[Yessss. This is what I'm looking for. Fucking finally!]_

He pushed his fingers into his right leg. Yep, hard as a rock. He was completely out of power. It was silvery-blue and didn't respond to his nerve cues.

_[Wait...what? Shit! Why are you doing this?]_

[This challenge has been really hard John. I'm exhausted. Can't you just sit this one out?]

_[Where are you going? Get back here. Ahh fuck, fix my leg! Don't think you can run away. Fuck. DORRRRRIIIIIAAAANNNNN!]_

[Thanks for reading everyone! Gotta run!]


End file.
